


The Fairy Tale Scherzo

by ArchiveIlana



Category: Elder Scrolls, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood bond and Soul bond, Crookshank is actually a prince turned in to a cat, F/F, F/M, Four houses as four kingdoms, Hermione as Voldemort's apprentice, Hermione is the reincarnation of deities, Hermione remains smart and strong, High Fantasy, M/M, Multi, No Hermione won't date her cat, Paranormal Romance, Rococo&Victorian Fashion, Swords & Sorcery, Voldemort is a calculating bastard, Voldemort remains evil psychopath, Voldemort with Tom Riddle's good look, Wandless Magic, fairytale fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchiveIlana/pseuds/ArchiveIlana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>11-year old Hermione crossed the barrier between Magical world and our plain real world and stumbled upon no other than Lord Voldemort himself. After the deadly encounter with the confined dark wizard, Hermione found herself trapped in this world and adopted in the Weasley household. Hoping to find a way home, She begin to study magic, only to be abducted by Voldemort into his castle 5 years later,  forced to be his apprentice, and eventually his Queen. Unbeknownst to her, Lord Voldemort has a ultimate plan to claim this little witch...<br/>Set in a medieval fictional world with heavy elements of magic, Rococo&Victorian fashion style, and sword&sorcery. So if you'd like to see Hermione in action and adventure, this is the fic for you.Lots of characters wield a sword, and we got Voldemort in waistcoat and breeches using raiper with dagger. Check this fic if you like these elements! Don't worry, NO WIGS in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm Ilana from mainland, China. This is my first fanfic on AO3 and in English, but not my first story, so feel free to correct me if you find any error in my grammar, my spelling or wording. I'll be grateful if you review on the story as well!  
> It's a majorly AU story set in a fictional medieval magical world , which was parallel with our real world, separated by an invisible barrier known as "the wall" (yeah, I borrowed that from Stardust). Elves, Merpeople, faeries and mankind inhabit the land along with various kinds of magical creatures, and magic is a skill everyone can learn, but only those born with talents can achieve much in this field. Actually, the concept of magic in this story is a mix of cannon and the game Elder Scrolls, so don't be surprised if you find the magic works differently from the cannon.  
> The story mainly focused on the Hogwarts region，which is divided into four kingdoms(as four houses in cannon ) and a free city (named Hogsmade) in the center of these four kingdoms.  
> Although the background setting is different, but the characters will remain the same. I STRIVE TO KEEP THEIR PERSONALITIES IDENTICAL WITH THE CANNON. So generally, you don't have to worry about OOC, though the character will adapt with the progress of the plot.  
> I'm not sure how much chapter this story will take, but I have the plots all planned out, so rest assured, I will finish this eventually, I just need time.  
> I have read a lot of works on Voldemione by others, and may unintentionally borrowed from them (mostly expressions, cause I'm no native-English writer), so anything you may recognize are not mine. I will try to list out all the borrowed things in the end of every Chapter, but if I have left out any, please point out for me.  
> Gosh, even my note is verbose. I will shut up and sat back for now, and let you enjoy the story.

Hermione Granger fell down the rabbit hole.

Technically, She followed a huge ginger cat into a hedge, then promptly lost her way in the thick bushes. Everywhere she went, branches blocked her way, twigs got tangled in her hair, and she got dirt all over her blue slacks. Hermione felt like a mice trapped in a dull green maze, and can only crawled forward carefully, hoping to return to the park square before anyone notices. 

A quick glance at watch showed 12:20 pm, exactly 20 minutes after she got into the hedge. How curious, the bushes shouldn’t be so large judging from the outside, so why can’t she find a way out? Besides, it’s deadly silent, almost as if the bushes are soundproof; She can neither hear her classmates outside, or yell for help in the inside.

Hermione didn’t panic, though; Oddity is a daily occurrence to her. When just a toddler, she once threw a tantrum that made all lights in the house went out; At the age of 5, she inadvertently turned her aunt’s red rose bushed white; Then in age 6, She can made her father’s violin play by itself, and made the family dog do her bidding, such as ate up all the carrots in her dish whenever her parents wasn’t watching.

Hermione only realize her power when she began elementary school, when kids there bullied her in regular basis. It’s nothing serious, though, they just made fun of her bushy hair and buckled teeth, called her names, and shunned her for “being a nerd”. Hermione ignored them as best as she can, never let them see they get to her, and after a few tries the kid would leave her alone, deemed her to boring to mess with.

However, one of the bullies stared to get really annoying. Hermione can’t quite recall his name, maybe it’s Mike or Max or something. Anyway, he is the most horrid boy she had the misfortunate to ever meet, bulky build with dirty blond hair, and has been picked on her since the first day they met. He constantly pulled her hair in class, slipped caterpillar and mantis in her desk (OH GOD SHE HATE MANTIS) and even stuck gum in her hair.

Hermione finally burst one day when the bully snatched book from her hand and tearing its page in the process. It’s her favorite book, a gift from her mother nonetheless, and Hermione rose up in a rage : ” Give my book back! ”

“No!” taunted the boy, ”Come and get it if you can, freak!”

Hermione walked up to the bully and tired to grab her book back, but he raised his hand high to keep the book out of her reach, She jumped serval times before he was fed up with it, and he backed further with the book and deliberately torn apart more pages, right in front of her eyes. 

Hermione shrieked in outrage and lunged for the book, only to be pushed back harshly, landing on her bottom painfully. The bully threw her book in the dustbin and mocked her cruelly, and in that moment Hermione was so mad, so angry and confused, that the most violent thought formed in her mind ever since she leant to dislike someone: she wanted to revenge, wanted to hurt the boy so badly for damaging her precious book, that she wanted to see him burned to the ground.

Something deep inside her stirred, uncurled, then clicked; A fluid heat run through her body, cracking and sizzling like electric spark, burst out of her skin and rushed toward the unsuspected boy, leaving a faint golden glow on her fingertip invisible to anyone else but Hermione. 

Suddenly, the boy’s hair was on fire, greedily engulfed by bright blue flame, and he jumped back and yelped in fright. Hermione cried out as well, horrified and disbelieving at what she had done, and watched in morbid fascination as the flame eating away his dirty blond hair. The boy wailed loudly, painfully and teary, which snapped Hermione out of her daze and screamed for help. 

Eventually, their teacher came to the boy’s rescue, put out the fire and sent him to the infirmary; She even comforted Hermione for being caught up in the ghastly scene, unbeknownst to the girl’s role in the ordeal.

Nobody blamed Hermione for the accident, no matter what the boy said, not even his parents would believe this quite, sweet little girl has the ability to set their son’s hair on fire, not to mention that there’s no proof suggesting that she has anything to do with this. The Grangers talked to their daughter about how to deal with school bully, offering her love and support, but dismiss Hermione’s guilty statement as hallucination caused by mental stress. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, darling,” her mother said, hugging her tightly, “that boy is just being resentful, he will come to his senses someday. ”

Senses. That’s why they would never believe her; The Grangers are too rational for notions like magic and mystic power. They will love and support Hermione, but will never understand her, understand her power.

After the incident, Hermione began to research the power all by herself. She read books on all kinds of subject, including but not limited to nature science, psychology, science fiction, fantasy, and even comics. She watched movies and TV series, trying out spells and incantations in private. Sadly, none of them had ever worked, and so far the closet explanation for her power is that she might be a born mutant. Or a faerie changeling. Or an alien princess who was sent to earth as an infant. Or she could just got bitten by some kind of radioactive animal without notice.

All in all, Hermione started to explore her power carefully, and found a few ways to exploit it until now, such as telekinesis (affected by weight of the object), pacify small wild animals, and if concentrated hard enough, she can set a spot on fire with no more then her stare. Whenever she used her power, she can feel the warm flush running through her veins, the golden light glowing more brightly as she grew up and exploit more of the magic --- that is what she called it now, for the lack of a better word.

Her stomach rumbled, and Hermione glanced at her watch again, 12:53pm, long past the due time for assemble, and she was still trapped here. Subconsciously, Hermione touched the tags on her necklace, with her name, family address and phone number carved into these small silver plates. Don’t panic, she told herself, it’s all right, it’s just a hedge, she just need to be patient and find her way out.

Hermione fished out a apple lollypop from her small pink rucksack, popped it in her mouth and kept crawling in the green tunnel, the leaves and twigs gently rustling around her. After a few steps, the thick branches finally parted, revealing an illuminated opening in the hedges. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione quickly crawled through it, wanting noting more to get out of here and take a bus home,

However, she was no longer in the park square; instead, Hermione found herself standing in a great garden, surrounded by various species of strange plants. She blinked, turned around and touched the tall stone wall behind her in utter bemusement. Did she just crawl through a solid stone wall? And is there a way back to the park?

Preparing for a white rabbit with a pocket watch jumping out at any moment, Hermione crossed the soft meadow in front of the wall and stepped on the narrow cobble stone road beside it. Seeing no exit or the way back, she might as well go forward and find another way out of this strange place. 

Hermione walked on silently, curiously observing the garden as she went. Trees overhung her path, and flowers bowed their head when she passed, even if no wind was here to bent their stem. Hermione had the most strange feeling that these plants were alive, breathing and pulsing and swaying and whispering among themselves, watching the intruder climbed up the winded pebbled path.

Intoxicating fragrance of fruits and nectar filled the air, the sweet smell making her slightly dizzy. A slim, greyish mist hung in cool, humid air, giving the garden an all-pervading sense of gloom. The cloudless sky felt like a translucent doom over the garden, a cyan fabric interwoven with thin threads of blue and silver, humming with an oppressive energy.   
Hermione pinched herself to stay clear-minded, sucking on the lollypop loudly to concentrated on getting out, not ogling these bizarre plants. After a while, She began to hear the sound of water splashing, and the road came to a halt before a small square around the corner. A statue of an ancient and monkey-like old man stand in the midst of the square, with a giant stone serpent curling at his feet, stream of clear water flowing from the snake’s mouth, pooling in the basin under the statue.

A man stood in front of the statue, his back was to her, tall, skeletally thin body clad in a hooded black robe. Bone-white hands with unnaturally long fingers like spider’s legs extended from the long sleeve, one perched on the head of the stone serpent, the other holding a thin wooden stick, with long, sharp, pale blue fingernails tapping it absentmindedly. 

However, what unsettled Hermione the most was the thick black fog pouring from him, swirling around the skeleton man in a violent cyclone, so dense that it blocked her sight of whatever behind him. Tendrils of the fog danced around, diluted in the air as ink diluted in water, forming the greyish mist she encountered before. Even from a distance Hermione can feel its brutal energy, full of malice and greed and cruelty, sending a chill down her spine.

This man is extremely dangerous, and the animal instinct screamed in the back of her mind loudly: RUN! 

Hermione held her breath and backed slowly, silently, hoping to get away before the skeleton man notices her presence. However, just as she began to move, a ripple run through the dense fog, and the his movement stilled. Talons of black energy rushed toward her, clawing at her skin painfully, when the man spun around in a elegant flourish of black robes.

Hermione inhaled sharply when his face was revealed. It’s inhuman and reptilian, the chalk-white, hairless face resembled a skull, with snake-like slits for nostrils and wild, livid scarlet eyes. He was staring right at her, nostrils flaring slightly as if to taste her scent, ruby eyes boring into her like tons of lava.

Tentacle of the black fog coiled around her body tightly, slithering upward like a bunch of snakes, paralyzing and freezing her, pricking her skin like thousands of icy needles, almost submerged all her senses. Hermione can’t help but gasp in pain, trying to move away but wasn’t able to, and only can stared wide-eyed as the man glided toward her, the corrupted fog hung behind his shoulder like a faithful shadowy servant. 

“A little girl,” he mused in a high, cold voice, regarding her with clinical curiosity, “ a muggle, nonetheless. How did you get past my ward, muggle?”

Muggle? What is that?

Hermione blinked in confusion. Thick fog pressed all over her body, suffocating her like icy water; subconsciously, she reached deep inside her core, searching and pulling forth her magic, wanting to feel its comforting warmth. The man stiffened, the cat-like pupils dilated for a split-second, then narrowed in a thin, angry line. 

He hissed in displeasure, and approached her in a swift stride, forcing her to look into his eyes with tip of his wooden stick. Hermione gasped in pain and tried to tear her eyes away from his scorching stare, but with no avail; His gaze cut into her mind like white-hot blade, peeling away layers of consciousness brutally, raking through her memory unscrupulously. 

This man--- this monster, he inserted himself forcefully in her mind, Hermione didn’t know how, but she just did. She saw herself waving goodbye to her mother and went for the school trip; she found a big ginger cat with leather collar and followed him into the hedge, wanting to return him to his owner; she crawled through hedge and came out in this gloomy garden, lost and bewildered and tried to find a way home.

All the while Hermione can feel this man’s dark presence, went through her memories ruthlessly. Eventually the pressure on her mind lessened, and Hermione doubled over and gaged, sweat broke all over her body. It’s sick and terrible, how he invaded her privacy, and she can still feel the ghost of his spidery fingers in her mind, tarnishing it.

The man stood over her, twirling the pale stick between his fingers, watching her in mild disgust: “I see…a mudblood from beyond the wall.” 

Hermione blinked and saw his face with watery eyes, her mind a haze of fear and confusion. Stick raised, the man sneered at her disdainfully: “Such a pity. You do get potential, but you ended up in wrong place, by crossing Lord Voldemort’s path…..”

There’s a sudden shift in the air, the dense fog flooded into his stick, making it humming with energy. A sickly green sheen appeared on the surface of the stick, sending a chill down her spine. 

“Say goodbye to the world, little mudblood.”

Cold dread gripped her heart, Hermione froze in fear as green light burst from the tip of the stick and rushed toward her. He intended to kill her, she realized, and if the green light hit her, she will die right away. Fear stirred in her body, awakening the force rested deep inside her being, much more powerful than her usual golden glow of magic, and she instinctively pulled at it, willing it out ward off the deadly green light.

Great force released from her body, immediately forming a translucent golden shield between them. The man’s eyes widened, but before any of them can do something, the jet of green light clashed into the shield, slipped at the edge and bounced back into its caster’s chest, shattering the shield into numerous splinters, which floated in the air like glistening sand, before plunging into the man’s chest like a deluge.

Hermione was hurled back by the impact as a ragged doll, crashed onto the ground harshly, and she can actually hear her ribs breaking apart. The man let out a pain-filled scream, so shrill that it almost cracked her skull. Hermione moaned in pain and nausea, ears buzzing and limbs twitching convulsively, wishing to cover her ears but unable to move a single finger.

Oh God….She prayed in her mind repeatedly, make it stop, take her out of here, away from the screaming, away from this man, this monster, please…

Magic flooded out of her body like a gush of fresh blood, pouring into the black fog and merged with it, tying her to the man like thick threads. The smog whirled and eddied around them, roaring like thunderstorm, greedily leeching her power, leaving her cold and hollowed inside. 

Hermione moaned in discomfort, angry and terrified at how the man feeding on her energy. She breathed deeply, trying to focus and pull the magic back into her body. At first it didn’t work, but she kept pulling. After a few tries she can feel something in her hands, hot and substantial like fiery ropes, and she closed her eyes briefly and pulled hard.  
Magic rebounded upon her like a lash, engulfed her and pressed hard into her body from every directions. Hermione can’t breathe, there are iron bands tighten around her chest, her eyeballs were being forced back into her head, and her ear-drums were pushed deep into her skull. She screamed, fighting to stay conscious but failed to do so, the last thought crossed her mind before passing out is that she wanted to get somewhere safe.

Lord Voldemort had never felt so much pain in his entire life.

Avada Kedavra, the most deadly of the three unforgivable curses, Voldemort’s personal favorite. Only six syllables and a flash of green light, then the victim will be dead, neat and efficient; he was so familiar with it that he didn’t even need to utter the spell. He had used the curses more times than he cared to count, but never had him been put to the receiving end of it.

It was pain beyond belief, as if he was being flayed and grilled alive, thousands of rusty razor cut into him, peeling off his skin. Golden tsunami of magic hammered into him, crushing his internal organs and ripping open every nerve ending, fusing into his body, his magic, his very soul. It’s almost like he was being re-forged from inside out by the strange golden force, and he was helpless to stop it.

Holy horcrux, thought Voldemort, if he ever survive this, he is going to torture that mudblood to death, then revive her just so he can kill her again! 

He didn’t know how long he lay there, writhing and screaming in agony, until finally he can’t take it anymore and simply blacked out. When he came to, Voldemort found himself lying in a pile of molted skin, covered in blood and stinking mucus, his skin felt raw, and his body arched all over. 

Shakily he reached for his wand, but stopped when he saw his hands, still long and pale, but definitely human, with healthy pink skin and manicured fingernails. Voldemort stared at his hands blankly, then grabbed his yew wand and scourgified himself, before conjuring up a full-body length mirror to inspect himself all over.

In the mirror stood a tall and handsome young man, with pale skin, jet-black hair, and high bridged nose and strong jawlines. Voldemort just stared, dumbstruck, at his own reflection; he looked as charming as his 25-year-old self, before the dark arts began to contort his figure, all except his crimson eyes with cat-like slits as pupils. 

Sweet Salazar, he looked exactly like a copy of his muggle father.

Voldemort brandished his wand and robed himself, rubbing his newly returned nose absentmindedly. After a quick diagnosis spell, he found this body strong and healthy, it’s like something reversed time and returned his body to its peak physical condition --- what did that little mudblood do to him?

His eyes fell to the spot where she had been, but that girl was already gone, leaving only a chunk of brown mane in a pool of blood. He remembered hearing a distinct crack before him lost conscious, so she could have apparated away --- wandlessly and nonverbally, without even understanding how it worked as well!

Voldemort pursed his lips, feeling annoyed and intrigued at the same time. Power like this is always to be treasured, despite her low breeding. He waved his wand, collected all the blood and hairs and sent them back to the castle study for later examination. After these was cleaned away, he bent down and picked up a thread of silver necklace, and inspected the tags on it. 

“Hermione Jean Granger,” He read thoughtfully, “so this is your name then.”

Voldemort’s lips curled up. Hermione, he tasted the name on his tongue, and found that he like it very much.

His new prey.


	2. A Beautiful New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief introduction of the background setting in the story. Hermione also found out she was destined to be a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, I got quite confused on tense. Why do English need so many tenses anyway? We don’t get tenses in Chinese, and we do just fine.  
> I really need a book of grammar to write this.

Travelling minstrels were not a rare sight in Burrow; actually, the prosperous town in Gryffindor was often visited by these wandering bards, who roamed from village to village with their lutes and lap-harps, singing legends of heroes, telling stories of both imaginary and historical events, or just passing messages among settlements. Most of them frequented the tavern, sat on the stool before counter, drinking various beverages such as butterbeer, pumpkin juice, ale and mead, and performed for the audience if anyone made a request.

Among them Mancha was the most famous bard around here, but he neither sang nor played instruments, only ever told stories. He was tall and thin, with silver hair and beard so long that they could be tucked into his belt. He had a very long and crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken at least twice, and a pair of brilliant, soul-piercing blue eyes, which usually twinkled with kindness and mischief, the mystic air around him could be annoying sometimes if he wasn’t so helpful.

Everybody in Burrow loved Mancha, children expected his visit, and adults nodded respectfully whenever they came across him in the streets. He was a man full of wisdom, had friends all over Hogwarts, ranging from royalty to commoners, and people often sought him out for help in distress and trouble. 

When Mancha visited the town of Burrow, he usually stayed in the Weasley Mansion, hosted by the family of Arthur Weasley, baron of St Catchpole. Today was no different, as Mancha sat with four Weasley children in front of the bonfire, reading a scroll on his knee with his half-moon-shaped monocle. The redheads peered at him curiously, but none dared to disturb his reading, until Mancha put away the scroll and smiled at them affably:” Alright, what stories you want to hear today?”

“Sir,” said the Weasley twins simultaneously, “tell the story of the evil king of Slytherin!”

“But I want to hear the story of King James of Gryffindor and his queen Lily!” pouted Ginny, the youngest Weasley.

“Ginny, please!” grumbled Ron, the sixth son of Lord Arthur, his heavy freckled face in a grimace, “You’ve heard the story three times! I want to hear the stories about Dragon Knights. ”

“But ---”

“Children,” said Mancha in a soothing voice, smoothing out wrinkles on his turquoise blue robe,” I will tell all these stories one by one, from the evil king to Dragon Knight, so please be patient. ”

Four redheads nodded in eager attention.

“Once upon a time, four mages from beyond the wall discovered a beautiful but desolated land, full of strange but lovely creatures, but sparsely populated--- ”

“Dragons!” exclaimed Ron.

“Mermaids!” said Ginny excitedly, “have you seen them, sir? Are they pretty?”

Mancha chuckled: “Yes, dragons, elves, faeries, giants, centaurs and merpeople, all of them were the creatures inhabited in this land before the arrival of mages. I did meet the mermaids once, but I won’t say they are prettier than human maids. ” he winked at Ginny, who giggled. 

“Anyhow, the mages settled in the land and named it Hogwarts. Because these mages were powerful and sagacious, and spared no efforts to help anyone in need, people soon held them in great esteem and elected them as the leader of mankind. The four mages were elected as kings and queens, each one ruled over a quarter of Hogwarts, which later developed into the oldest four kingdoms in this world.”

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor protected the cold, mountainous northland, and Helga Huffpuff’s benevolence shone down on the rich soil in the east. In the peaceful, beautiful southern land, Rowena Ravenclaw’s wisdom was passed down in generations, when the secluded woods and sylvan swamps remained in the clutch of Salazar Slytherin. They did their best to tend to their subjects, human and non-human alike, and kept the folks happy and content. Many scholars are still nostalgic of these good old days, which they named the Age of Founders.”

Mancha was quiet for a moment, his gaze on the dancing flames, as if lost in the glory of the past. Then he came to himself and smiled at them wistfully:” But no one can live forever---the ends makes all equal, no matter how powerful a person may be. The founders ruled for nearly a century, after departed for the realm of death, to the great sadness of their subjects.” 

“However, they hadn’t desert their people; The monarchs admitted their own mortality, and in the last of their years, the founders bent themselves on searching for children with magical potential, tested them and brought them to the center of the four kingdoms, cultivated these children into complete mages, then send them back all over the world to serve people with their knowledge. The education program produced a series of great mages, some of them even established their own kingdoms, such as Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Ilvermorny. ”

“The center of Hogwarts remained education ground for these magical children, and slowly developed into the free city of Hogsmade. It is a neutral territory independent from all four kingdoms, heart of magic in Hogwarts, where the mage council of Wizengamot and Gringotts Mage bank lie. Wizengamot serves as the main governing body of mage community in Hogwarts through history, and only mages acknowledged by Wizengamot are considered proper members of the magical society.”

“For nearly seven hundred years the mages from Wizengamot served and protected people of the four kingdom, however, not everyone was immune to the corruption of power ---”

“Such as the evil king of Slytherin!” hooted the twins, excited that the story finally got down to their favorite part.

“That’s right, the last king of Slytherin,” Mancha said, shaking his head, “he started off as an orphan in Hogsmade, he was the brightest student Wizengamot has ever seen. Shortly after he graduated from Hogwarts School of magic, he traced back his lineage and found out himself to be the last living member of the royal House of Gaunt in Slytherin, as well as the last heir of King Salazar himself. ”

“So he went back and took his rightful place as the king of Slytherin. He could have been a excellent monarch, but he was destroyed by his obsession for power. Being a mage, he should’ve understand the balance of power more than anyone, but he got carried away by his own greed. Lord Voldemort--- the name he had chosen for himself---thought of everything in terms of power and dismissed people or matters which he considered to have no values, such as love, friendship and sacrifice.” 

“Voldemort’s thirst of power made him delve deeper and deeper into dark arts, into the area where no one had ever set foot in. Not only did he practice dark arts, he also did experiments on himself and others, necromancy, for example. Few had faced him in the late years of his regime, it was said that he barely even looked human anymore… He would let nothing stand in the way between himself and power. ”

“Voldemort was also keen on world-dominion and blood-supremacy, and he started the First Wizarding War around 20 years ago, intending to conquer Hogwarts and enslave all non-magical species. He almost succeed that time, if not for the effort of Order of Phoenix and Wizengamot, the latter had casted him out at that time. But Voldemort paid no heed, for he already sat up his own mage council. Those most loyal to him was titled the Knights of Walpurgis, in the mockery of Wizengamot. ”

”He got followers?” Ginny asked curiously, “Why would anyone be loyal to such an evil wizard?”

Mancha gave her a sad smile: “There are many reasons. Voldemort was believed to be the most evil wizard in hundreds and hundreds of years, yes, but he was also highly intelligent, deceptive and very manipulative, and capable of charming anyone who was not perceptive enough. Not only did Voldemort use power and knowledge as bait, he would also resort to tricks, jinxes and blackmail to get people to join him. He described the death eaters ---that’s what Voldemort called his followers---as his ‘friends’, but he viewed them as nothing more than disposable pawns to carry out tasks, and wouldn’t hesitate to use and execute them, or anyone else in that case, if it suits him, even if they were completely loyal to him. ”A brief shadow crossed the minstrel’s face as he stared at the campfire with a faraway look in his usually kind blue orbs.

“But he was defeated, right?” said Ron wiggling his eyebrows hopefully, “by---”

“Albus Dumbledore!” exclaimed his brothers and sister simultaneously, “the most powerful wizard of his time!”

Mancha chuckled: “Of course. Dumbledore was the chief warlock of Wizengamot at that time, and organized a mass resistance when Voldemort’s army bored down Gryffindor, the last kingdom that still hadn’t bowed to him. When the Order engaged themselves with death eaters, Dumbledore took it upon himself to face Voldemort, challenging him to a duel.” 

“Voldemort accepted, only too eager to crush the reprehensive of Wizengamot at that time. The duel stretched for three days, as their dueling skills and strategy were somewhat well-matched. In the end both opponents were exhausted, and Dumbledore attempted to negotiate with Voldemort, while his true intension was to get as close to the dark wizard as enough and incapacitate him, then apprehend him and put him into Azkaban.”

“However, Voldemort refused to surrender and continued dueling, even when his magic had become quite unstable during the process. Relentlessly he fought on, and was actually closed to kill Dumbledore at one point. But like Dumbledore, Voldemort was also pushing himself to his limit, and eventually lost control, his magical core blasted and his dark magic cascaded out uncontrollably. Dumbledore took this chance to defeat him, forfeited all his magic to seal the dark wizard once and for all. ”

“Wow,” Ron breathed, “Was the dark wizard dead?”

“He may still be alive, but he won’t be able cause harm in the near future.”

“Dumbledore was such a hero,” Ginny said with reverence, “what had become of him? Did he return Wizengamot and stay as chief warlock?”

“No. That seal had drained his magic core, and made him basically a muggle afterwards,” Mancha answered with a twinkle in his eyes, “but don’t worry, he will be fine. After all, being chief warlock can be very exhausting. ”

The children exchanged befuddled glance at his statement, but they were used to Mancha’s eccentric behavior, so Ginny just shrugged and asked for the next story: “Sir, tell the story of King James and Queen Lily, please!”

“Okay,” Mancha agreed good-naturedly, “James Potter, our benevolent and valiant king of Gryffindor, was sent to Hogsmade to for magical education in his youth, when he was still a wayward prince. James didn’t have the talent to become a wizard, but he made a fine third-classed sorcerer. He was popular in the college, and made a lot of friends, such as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, who later became his advisors. He also fell in love with Lily Evans, a talented and kind muggle-born witch, who returned his feelings. ”

“James proposed to her shortly after graduation, but Lily hesitated to accept his hand, because she didn’t want to forgo her education for marriage. But James was quite enamor with her, and being the stubborn and free-spirit prince he was, James begged the king and queen repeatedly, and was even willing to renounce his claim to the Gryffindor throne just so he can marry Lily. However, James was the only heir at that time, and King Fleamont finally relented and gave his blessing. Lily became the first princess who went to Citadel to receive further magical training, and later became the a leading member of the Gryffindor branch of mage association, as well as the queen of Gryffindor.” 

“That’s so romantic,” Ginny sighed with a dreamy face, “do you think I can became a witch too, Sir?”

Mancha let out a kind chuckle, but before he can respond, Ron chipped in and teased his little sister:” You have to get talent to become a witch! By the way, you don’t need to be smart to marry a prince, actually, all you need is a pretty enough face. ”

Ginny flushed:” Well, not all of us are as shallow---”

Her retort was interrupted by a loud crack and everyone was shocked to find a skinny little girl lying unconsciously by the campfire, curling up in a fetus position. Her strange set of clothes was tattered and soaked with blood, her thick, fuzzy brown mane spilled behind her back like nest of spider webs. There were cuts all over her fair skin, where crimson fluid poured out freely, quickly forming a pool of fresh blood around her petite body. The rich, metallic smell was almost tangible in the air.

The Weasley children gaped at the girl as if stunned. George let out a girly squeak, while Mancha stepped up to inspect her condition. A deep frown sat into his forehead as Mancha picked up the girl carefully, his tone serious: “Children, get your mother as soon as possible, please. She won’t hold long in this condition. ”

Like her husband, Lady Weasley was very kind and hospitable, and she was said to be the most competent mother in town. All her children was brought up rather well, and the older three sons all got good jobs and achieved something in their respective fields: the eldest son Bill worked in Gringotts Bank, the second son Charlie served as Dragon caretaker in Order of the Dragon Knights,, while the third son Percy had a decent job in government. The younger children were cared for as well; Molly did her best to make sure they receive better education, while she herself was a skilled a healer and third-classed sorceress, and serve as the unofficial doctor in Burrow.

“By Merlin!” Molly gasped when she was dragged into the parlor and saw the girl in Mancha’s arms, “What happened? Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Mancha, gently putting the girl down on the couch,” She just appeared in the clearing with a crack.”

“A crack? “She hurried over and pulled out her wand, waved a quick diagnosis spell on the girl, and inhaled sharply when she took in the girl’s injury,” other than the cuts all over her body, she’s also got a concussion, two broken ribs, maybe some internal bleeding too. Go fetch me some blood-replenishing potion and Skele-Gro, Children, third cupboard of the storage room in the basement. Go! ”

As the children scurried downstairs to get potions, Mancha watched as Molly scourgified the girl and proceed to close the gaping wounds: “This looked awfully like an apparation that had gone wrong. She is too young to apparate herself, but I didn’t see anyone with her. Actually, it’s almost like the apparation was forced on her, which splinched her badly.” 

“Who would have done such a thing? “Molly mumbled, examining the bruises on her abdomen and back, “she can’t be older than 10, and wearing pants…do you think she may be a prisoner of some sort? Bandits, or dark wizard maybe? Clearly she had been beaten and tortured, the poor creature…”

Mancha noticed the strange device on the girl’s wrist, which has a small round plate with fluorescent green numbers it. He contemplated her for a few seconds until a thought hit him:” She is not from our world. ” 

“What?”

“My suspicion is that she came beyond the wall,” Mancha gestured toward the device on the girl’s wrist,” Look at her clothes, Molly, have you seen anything of this fashion? The device in her wrist, I sense no magic yet it’s still moving. And her satchel is made of some strange material too. ”

“But…but that was where the Founders came from, “Molly stared at the girl disbelievingly, “someone beyond the wall? We haven’t had one of those in seven hundred years! And how did a child like her cross the wall? ”

“Actually we had. There are few others between her and the Founders, and Wizengamot kept a record of them,” Mancha explained evenly, “however, all of the outsiders arrived here by accident. There is a theory that these individuals were chosen by our world because of some unique attributes which were not compatible with their original world. Maybe she was here for a purpose.”

He bent down to inspect the wrist-device: “What a curious----”

The minute he touched the girl’s skin, there was a vibration. Mancha startled and took a step back, watching in stunned silence as a soft glow emitted from her chest, gradually grew brighter and wrapped her body like a white cocoon. A moment later, the light faded, as the girl became visible again, and something gleamed on her upper wrist. Mancha leaned in and found a faint circular rune etched in her pale skin, sparking softly in the candlelight like a gilded letter.

“Good Godric,” Molly breathed in awe,” what was that?”

Mancha gave no answer, his gaze fixed solely on the girl. He clutched at the arm of the couch, so tight that his knuckles turned white, as if his knees were weak and couldn’t support his weight. Several different emotions flickered over his eyes, like shock, recognition, guilt and regret, finally settled on a weary resignation. 

“Albus?” Molly asked tentatively, “Are you alright?”

Her sound seem to snap the minstrel from his trance, and Albus Dumbledore looked up sharply, then quickly schooled his face. He waved his hand distractedly, took down the prismatic bracelet of crystal beads on his wrist and tie it around the girl’s wrist, its enchantment of glamour obscured the rune immediately, making it seem smooth skin.

“Molly, I must ask you a favor---” said Dumbledore, adjusting the bracelet on the girl’s wrist, “Would you mind taking care of the girl for a few days when I am away? I need to go to Hogsmade to confirm something.”

“No problem,” Molly agreed, then asked with a bit hesitation, “Do you plan to report her to the council?”

“Yes, but don’t let the knowledge of her background out of your household before my return,” Dumbledore informed her, gathered his outer robe and walked toward the door, “you can say that she is a distant relative of mine, newly orphaned and came here for a few days shelter. We can discuss her future after I returned from Hogsmade.”

“Alright,” Molly saw him to the fireplace, “Take care, Albus.”

“Thanks, and you too,” Dumbledore smiled at her amiably, grabbed a batch of floo powder and threw it into the fire,” If you need anything, you know where to send the owl.”

As he stepped into the green blaze, a series of memories flashed through Dumbledore’s mind eye. He thought of a blond lad with a merry, wild face, the ambition of his youth, his desire for fame and power, the Supreme Celestial Ritual that had gone wrong, the death of a kind, sweet blond girl, and the quite life in remorse after that tragedy….

What goes around comes around.

Dumbledore thought of the mark on the girl’s wrist, written in Eldmeris---the oldest written language in this world---which represented “star”, ”magic”, or more accurately, “Aetherius” .

The Immortal Plane.

 

“Look, her eyelids moved!”

“Shush! You will wake her up!”

“Mancha said she apparated here. Is she a witch? ”

“Impossible! She looks even younger than Ginny. Must be attacked by dark wizard.”

Hermione’s eyelids flickered, then opened. Through blurry eyes she could just about make out four heads above her face, she had to blink several times to get rid of the remaining tears. Vision clear, Hermione stared up at the kids perplexedly. They appeared to be brothers and sisters, four boys and one girl, all with flaming red hair and freckled face. Two of the boys appeared to be twins, looking rather mischievous; a lanky boy with clear blue eyes, and the girl with a sweet, round face.

Hermione sat up gingerly, her head spinning a little, and her body ached all over. Surveying her surrounding, she found herself lying on a double bed with well-washed ivory linen sheets. The room was decorated in a cozy, pretty Victorian style, with floral wallpapers and ceramic vases. Paintings depicting peaceful landscape and pastoral scenes adored the wall, and the furniture were upholstered in flowery materials. In short, the room looked like a stage setting of historical drama from BBC.

There was a jab on her arm, and Hermione raised her eyes to the lanky boy.

”Hey,” he asked curiously, “Can you speak?” 

Hermione opened her mouth, and the girl elbowed him: “Ron! That’s rude!”

“Ow!” Ron rubbed his chest and glared at the girl,” I’m just curious, Ginny!”

“I…” Hermione’s throat was dry, “Who are you? Where…where am I?”

“Oh, hello, my name is Ginny,” Said the pretty girl with tawny eyes, “These are my brothers, Fred and George,” she gestured to the twins,” The idiot over here is Ron---”

“Hey!”

Ginny ignored her brother’s protest and sat on the bedside: “What’s your name?”

These kids looked friendly enough, but the unfamiliar environment still made Hermione a bit warily. She licked her parched lips: “Hermione…My name is Hermione.”

“Hermione,” Ginny repeated slowly, “sound complicated.” 

Hermione gave her a small smile and continued to survey her surroundings, categorizing everything in her mind. She noted that there are no trace of modern industry in the room, the shutters and floor wooden, the tableware either ceramic or metallic, and there was inkstand on the windowsill, with a feather---no, a quill sticking out of it. No glasses, no plastic, and definitely no electrical equipment---the only light source was the daylight pouring from the open window.

The more she observed, the more agitate Hermione became. Too real, everything was too real, even the clothes of the kids was of historical fashion.

Her own clothes were also changed; the jumper and slacks replaced by a long linen shirt, with scalloped neckline; actually, it looked like a nightgown out of a Jane-Austen movie. Her wrist-watch was also replaced by a strange-looking beaded bracelet. Hermione took it from the nightstand and peered at the LCD screen, feeling relieved that it was still working. 9:37 am, the watch said, exactly how long had she been unconscious? 

“What’s this?” inquired one of the twins curiously, pointing at her watch.

Hermione frowned:” It’s just a watch. A digital wrist-watch.”

“Watch? Do you mean clock?” the twin asked, “and what’s a ‘digital’?”

Hermione stared at him blankly. If the boy was not joking, then something was very wrong here.

“Is it some kind of magic?” asked Ron,” that looked like a fancy enchantment.”

Oh no. He appeared to be telling the truth. These kids really did not understand what a digital watch is, just as she did not understand what an ‘enchantment’ is. Either she was in a very vivid dream, or she was in an entirely new world, like Alice’s wonderland, Narnia in the wardrobe, or Middle Earth…

Wait, you can’t stumble upon Middle Earth, right?

Hermione didn’t realize her hands were trembling until Ginny patted her shoulder cautiously:” Hermione? Are you alright?”

Hermione whipped her head at Ginny with a wild look on her face:” Where am I?” 

“What---”

“Where am I?” Hermione pressed, looking at her squarely in the eye,” Am I still in London? England? Europe?” with every location uttered, her pitch turning up but volume down, “Tell me, Please!”

The last word came out as a sob. The kids stared at her, stunned, while Ginny answered uncertainly:” Err…you are in Burrow?”

She glanced at her brothers, as if looking for confirmation: “You are in Burrow, kingdom of Gryffindor, Hermione. I don’t know about the places you mentioned. ”

“Oh.”  
Hermione stared at Ginny wide-eyed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, so fast that she could not see, and heard Ginny’s half- panicked voice:” Her, Hermione? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, just buried her face in her knees and let tears flow down freely. Memories flashed through her mind eye, the gloomy garden, the horrible snake-faced man, the eerie green light, then the all-consuming pain afterwards…The kids were talking above her small form, their tone panic and confused, and there were footsteps approaching the doorway, a woman’s voice chiding the children for disturbing the patient, then shooed them away.

But Hermione didn’t care, the only thing she cared was that she got lost, lost in a world that was unfamiliar and completely different with her own, and she might never be able to find the way home.

“Shush…it’s okay,” the woman sat beside her and gathered the sobbing girl in her arms, comforting her in a soothing voice, “It’s okay, you are safe now, no one can hurt you here…”

The woman smelled motherly. Not her own mother, but still comforting. Hermione continued to cry her heart out, and eventually fell asleep in her warm embrace. 

 

Hermione spent three days to adapt the new world: She learnt that the woman who comforted her was Molly Weasley, Baroness of St Catchpole, hostess of the Weasley manor, where she currently lodged in; She learnt that she crossed the wall by accident, and fell into a magical world where mankind and other magical races lived together, with a near medieval setting and industry almost completely driven by magic; She learnt that the snake man she encounter in the garden was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord who ruled over kingdom of Slytherin decades ago, and the most evil, cruel but powerful dark wizard in history.

She also learnt that she might never return home and see her parents again.

Hermione didn’t cry after the first day. Crying was useless, her father had told her so; when in trouble, calm yourself and gather as much as information as you can, analyze the situation and try to find a way out, don’t let emotion cloud your judgement, he said. So Hermione cooperated with the treatment, listen to Lady Weasley quietly, answered the questions of the Weasley kids as honest as she can , then ask her own in a well-organized manner, eager to learn more about this new world.

Well, she was always eager to learn about new things, and the knowledges pacified her a little.

“What a good girl,” Not once had Molly commented, stroking her curly hair, “so quiet, so studious, and so well-behaved, just like my Percy.”

A visitor stopped by the manor on the fourth day. He introduced himself as Mancha, an silver haired man with long, braided beard, a pair of wise, kind blue eyes, an air of peace and reliable around him. Hermione thought he looked exactly like Gandalf in Lord of Rings, except that his wardrobe was much more garnish than the wizard in Middle Earth: A gaily lavender colored robe with striped orange stockings underneath, the contract almost enough to burn her retina.

Hermione had to focus on his white beard to keep herself from gaping at his robe rudely in the conversation; the ribbon he used to tie his beard was a vibrant lawn green, which had Hermione wonder about the dyeing development in this world. This kind of green was rare in her world before Victorian age, maybe in this world people had magic to achieve that?

“Good Morning,” He greeted warmly, “Miss Granger, right? I am Mancha, nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Hermione smiled at him in gratitude, “I heard it from Ginny, thanks for saving my life, sir.”

“That’s okay,” Mancha waved his hand dismissively, “It was Lady Weasley who did all the work. I was just lending a hand. Anyway, Molly informed me that you have had a grasp of your situation, am I correct? ”

Hermione bit her lower lip nervously:” If by situation you mean the accident that sent me through the wall, then yes, I had leant about it already.”

“Good, good,” Mancha nodded in approval, “the thing is, your case is extremely rare, but not unprecedented; there were others from outside the wall in history, such as the Founders---you know about the founders, right?”

Hermione nodded: “I brought Ginny’s history textbooks.”

“Really?” Mancha’s eyebrows rose slightly, “that’s very good, Miss Granger. You are a brilliant girl, just keep a leveled head, and you will be able to deal with any trouble thrown in your way.” He encouraged in a friendly voice.

Hermione pursed her lips, and for the first time after arriving in this world, she had a petulant look on her pretty face: “I just want to go home.”

Mancha signed: “I am sorry, Miss Granger. To my knowledge, the method of returning is unavailable for the time being, at least not available in our current knowledge system. But no worries; I reported your case to the Wizengamot, and they have agreed to provide for you with an annual subsidy, until you reach the age of 17, so that you can establish a new life in this world. ”

“The mage council of Wizengamot?” Hermione frowned, “why would they provide for me?”

“Because, so far every individual who got pulled through the wall got talent,” Mancha said frankly, “ not necessarily magical talent, but a unique kind of talent nonetheless. Our world chose you for a reason, Miss Granger. Wizengamot supervises all mages and magical races in Hogwarts, and its system has improved greatly over recent years, they can hardly leave the gifted ones to their own devices. ”

He leaned forward a bit:” Forgive me for asking, Miss Granger, but have you ever find anything unusual about yourself? I don’t know about the other world, so I will just ask you to think about this: is there anything that set you apart from others? Some kind of special ability, maybe?”

“Well…” Hermione licked her lips and considered him. Mancha seem decent enough, had been nice and civil to her from the beginning of the conversation, and was good friends with the Weasleys, maybe she can trust him? She balled her small fists beside her body, hesitated for a moment, then decided: instead of explaining, she can show him.

Hermione raised her hand, tugged at her power and released a thin thread of golden ray from her fingertips, which shot to the glazed teacup on the top of the cabinet, wrapped around the cup and raised it steadily in the air, about 10 centimeter from the surface of the cabinet: “does telekinesis count?”

Mancha’s eyes widen for a beat, a flicker of shock flashed through his eyes, then nodded, beaming at her kindly: “Of course. You are a very talented witch, Miss Granger.”

Hermione put down the teacup, careful not to make any noise:” Witch? You mean, the power I possessed… ” She gaze lowered to her hands, “this is magic?”

“Yes, I believe so. Levitating is a basic skill of mages, but most need a wand to cast the spell. Your case are very rare indeed,” Mancha said pensively, “Now I may understand why you got pulled through; your power are too strong to suppress, it will only grow as you age, and without proper training it may endanger yourself or anyone around you.”

“But it’s not fair,” Hermione couldn’t help but protest, “My parents, my friends and my relative are all in the other world, when I have nothing here, why do I need to abandon everything just so I can contain my power? I never asked for this! I never wanted to---”She took a deep breath to steady herself,” I’m sorry, Mister Mancha, I’m just, just…my parents will be devastated when they found me missing.”

“I am sorry, dear, I really am,” Mancha sounded sad and apologetic at the same time,“ I will do my best to help you, and you can also do research during your magical education, I believe you will be able to find some way with that brilliant mind of yours. Don’t press yourself too hard though, none of these are your fault; especially not your magic, it’s a gift, not a deformity; Magic is a blessing from the Aetherius, never forget that. ”

“Aetherius?”

“The plane where magic originated from. Kind of like heaven in your world, I guess.”

“Christian don’t act well toward magic,” Hermione said shrugging, then a question suddenly popped into her mind,” Are you a wizard, Mister Mancha?”

“Me?” A brief sadness ran through his blue eyes, as Mancha shook his head and smiled at her,” I’m sorry, Miss Granger, I can’t teach you magic, but I have a lot of friends who are mage. I will ask them for you, but I suspect Wizengamot has already began to pick your tutor. A student from beyond the wall may be unique or powerful, the opportunity is too good to pass.”

“Well, I never expect that I’ll be so popular here,” Hermione said wryly,” do I need to go to Hogsmade for my education, Sir?”

“You don’t need to,” Mancha reassured her,” Molly has already expressed willingness to take you in, so you can stay in the Weasley manor if you like, the tutor will come to you. You see, Miss Granger, your case is special, and the basic magic knowledge does not require college facilities. After the basic tutoring was complete, you can take the N.E.W.T.S test to become a fully acknowledged mage, then decide whether to further your education or not.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed her new life did have something to look forward to:” Does everyone know I came from beyond the wall, sir?”

“Oh right, about this, I almost forget,” Mancha pointed at the beaded bracelet on her wrist,” It’s best we keep your origin in private, a power like this will surely attract greedy dark wizard, or evil doers of other races for that matter, and only few top mages in Wizengamot are aware of your background. The bracelet can conceal your unique magic signature, but it won’t get in the way of performing magic; you can see it as a talisman of some sort, a welcoming gift of mine, you may say.” He winked at her cordially.

Hermione blinked:” This … Mister Mancha, you are much too generous, I can’t…”

“It’s all right,” Mancha chuckled, “just an enchantment of glamour and concealment, nothing important. I have no use of it now, anyway. It’s better suited on your wrist.”

Hermione bit her lip, then gave him a hesitate but grateful smile: “Thank you, Mister Mancha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our Hermione had settled into the new world! I hope you are satisfied with all the information provided in this chapter. Voldemort will make brief appearance in the upcoming chapter.  
> I made some reference to Elder Scrolls, like Aetherius and Eldmeris. Aetherius is the realm from which Aedra originated, a plane of pure magicka; and these concept will continue be referred to in the progress of the story. Eldmeris is actually Aldmeris in Elder Scrolls, which refers to the language of high elves; and in my story, Eldmeris was a language of an ancient yet extinct elven kind.


	3. With Kind Regards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione was brought before our favorite Dark Lord, or Dark King, for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The transition is over, and in the next chapter Hermione will dine with His Grace and seal her fate with a binding contract.  
> Because Voldemort was once king of Slytherin, so his was indeed royalty, and his servant called him “your grace”, just what they will call Hermione after she became Voldemort’s queen. I learnt the title from Song of Ice and Fire, the others (your majesty, your highness) are just too intricate for a non-English speaker like me.  
> The date on the head of the letter, 4E 176, was a part of background setting I adopted from the Elder Scrolls, as well as the book called “Magic from the Sky”, the plane of Aetherius and Oblivion, and the immortal being Aedra and Daedra. 4E 176 means the 176th year in the fourth era; the seasons and months and weeks are still the same in this story.  
>  The concept of Inner-Sight and “Third-Eye” was borrowed from Dresden Files Series by Jim Butcher, but slightly modified to suit my background setting.  
>  The magic setting in this story is different with the canon. I don’t know whether the transformation will wear off after sometime in the canon setting, but in this story most spells and charms will wear off in due time, only those powerful enough will leave an everlasting change. It’s hard to explain now, and I will write more about the (fabricated) magic theory in the following chapters.   
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter. And please review!

“April 27th, 4E 176

Your Grace:

I have settled into Burrow and made contact with Miss Granger. She appeared suspicious of me, but believed in the commission from Wizengamot and accepted my tutoring after reading your letter. Miss Granger currently resides in the Weasley manor, taken in by Arthur Weasley’s family, and attends school with four younger Weasleys twice a week, and agreed to come to my house for tutoring for the rest of her time. 

She asked whether the Weasleys kids can receive magical education alongside her, especially the youngest, Ginny Weasley. She was also interested in the art of fencing. Without your instruction I replied that I need time to consider.

I have tested Miss Granger as you required, and she was extremely powerful, in spite of her age. Although she lacked general knowledge of magic. She has a rudimentary grasp of her power, and can perform simple tasks wandlessly, such as telekinesis and ignition, even before knowing the very existence of magic itself. She is highly intelligent and hard-working, studious but efficient at the same time. Indeed, she is a very satisfying student.

I have extracted the memory of her test and put it in the vial with this letter, so that my master can view it anytime. Miss Granger has begun the basic reading material you assigned, but she lacks a wand to perform those spell. Should I took her to the Ollivander’s for one, Your Grace? 

There is an enchanted bracelet on Miss Granger’s left wrist that she seldom takes off. It holds a glamour that conceals a rune mark on her upper wrist, and an unknown enchantment which she claimed can conceal her magic signature. According to her, the bracelet was a gift from a friend of the Weasleys, and I made her take it off for a while during the test, so you can examine it and the mark on her wrist in my memory.

Miss Granger’s letter of reply is enclosed within this scroll as well. 

Your humble servant  
Regulus Black  
”

Voldemort dabbed the silver cloud-like eddy inside the pensieve and drew out a wisp of memory with the tip of his wand. He seal the memory into a vial, which he labeled and put into a cabinet. He opened Hermione’s letter, scanned it quickly, then put it aside with a smile of satisfaction.

Naïve little mudblood. She actually believed his forged identity as “Professor Thomas Travenor”, co-tutor from Wizengamot. Naïve, but not stupid; from her letter he could see her logistical, perceptive and curious nature, the tendency to be a perfectionist, her loyalty and compassion to her friends, also insecurities in the unfamiliar world which she masked with respect and determination. In fact, she would be perfect if her loyalty was sorely devoted to himself.

Voldemort tapped his wand against his breeches thoughtfully. Fortunately, his spies in Wizengamot informed him about Hermione’s arrangement, and he was just in time to plant his own candidate in the position before Wizengamot decided on someone unqualified to be Hermione’s tutor. 

Regulus was not his first choice, however; Severus Snape was the most preferable tutor in his mind. But the first wizarding war had put the potion master’s alliance in the light, and Voldemort didn’t want anyone to link Hermione to him before he could get her into his castle---She was meant to be a secret weapon of his, not an open follower. Besides, Severus was kind of famous among the Slytherins, which would attract unwanted attention if he abandon his post in the mage council of Slytherin and come to teach Hermione in Gryffindor. 

He had also considered Barty Crouch Jr, who both intelligent and loyal, an accomplished wizard observant and manipulative enough to help him mold Hermione as he like; but Barty was his most valued and irreplaceable agent in Gryffindor, so he was out of question as well. All things considered, only Regulus was his best choice, who possess not only vast knowledge of magic, but also various aspects of aristocracy. The bonus could help to shape Hermione into a proper Lady, so she would be presentable by his side when the time comes.

Voldemort had intended to order Regulus to take Hermione to Hogsmade for a wand, but changed his idea after viewing her test by himself. Regulus was capable and efficient as always, his memory helpful and inspiring. Hermione Granger was indeed powerful, greatly exceeding his originally expectations, and he was quite sure that magic was visible to her. When Regulus casted, Hermione’s eyes would always be drawn to the trace of his magic, as if the trace was substantial like smoke or mist, when most mage could only vaguely feel another’s magical force.

The ability, named “Inner-Sight”, was a form of supernatural perception that could show concepts physically and break through illusions. What had been seen through the use of the Sight would remain a lasting memory forever, and would neither fade or forgotten, unless the mind was completely destroyed. It was a learnable skill, but very difficult and took an unreasonable amount of time for training, and very dependent on the mage’s level of power.

There was a potion called “Third-Eye” that enabled user to gain a measure of Inner-Sight, but it would severely strained their minds, as it was unable to be turned off until the potion wore off. Most mages deemed the skill unnecessary, as there was other more assessable and less harmful way to detect illusions and pierce veils. 

Few individuals were born with the skill, usually extremely powerful mages, and the more powerful they were, the more nature and easy it was for them to control the Sight. However, Hermione’s Sight was still unique, in the way that she use it as normal vision, without of knowing its existence. There also seemed to be layers in her sight, for she didn’t perceive the more terrifying aspect of the flowers in his garden, so maybe the most superficial layer of her Sight which enable her to trace energy and magic was always on. 

It was so special and unique, that Voldemort had only encountered two cases in his whole life: one being Hermione Granger, the other being himself. As much as it pained him to say so, her talent was an evenly-match for his own.

However, what intrigued Voldemort the most was the rune itched on her wrist, meaning “Aetherius” in Eldmeris. According to “Magic from the Sky” by Irlav Jarol, the stars are links between mortal world and Aetherius, the source of all magical power, and therefore, light from the stars is the most potent and exalted of all magical powers. 

But what could it mean, the “Aetherius” rune on Hermione’s wrist? She was definitely a mortal, human specifically, so what was the connection between her and the immortal plane? Could it be the source of her unusually strong power? And most importantly, how could he better utilized her power?

Anyway, Hermione Granger would come top in his most prized possessions. 

Voldemort sat down before the desk, took out a new parchment and began to write reply to Regulus. No, Hermione didn’t need a wand; it will only hinder her in realizing her full potential. Her wand needed to be specially customized, sturdy and stable enough to channel her rather forceful power, and abled to fit with her unique magical signature---just like his. Besides, he wanted to be with Hermione when she picked her own wand.

Before that, Hermione could learn to perform everything wandlessly, use her magic force as an extension of her body, without the help of any medium, so nature that it would feel like breathing to her. Voldemort wasn’t too worry about this; Hermione had the potential to do so. After she mastered her own magic, he would allow her to use a wand to better centralize her effects.

“Dear Miss Granger….” 

He paused, put the quill in the inkstand, and slowly a smirk of triumph spread over his handsome face.

His dear indeed.

 

(Five Years Later)

“Hermione! Wake up, wake up!”

Hermione groaned and pulled the blanket over her face: “Go away…”

“Come on!” Ginny yanked it away, “Rise and shine, Hermione!”

Crookshank, a huge ginger cat with a squashed head adopted by Hermione five years ago, made an indignant sound and jumped out of the bed. He stretched, gave an reproached look to Ginny and swaggered downstairs, seemingly looking for snacks in the kitchen. Hermione huffed, sat up and rubbed her eyes, hugging a pillow to her chest:” Ginny…What was that for?”

“You promised to accompany me to the tailor’s today,” Ginny was already dressed, watching her with enthusiasm, “Don’t you remember? Prince Harry’s birthday party is coming next month! ”

“Oh please! “Hermione gave a yawn, “It’s still a month away!”

“Only a month away!” Ginny corrected, opened her wardrobe and picked out a lilac gown for her, “nice weather today, you can wear this. Go wash your face, I can brush your hair afterwards.”

“Paparazzi.” Hermione muttered, shuffled into the lavatory and splattered her face, then brushed her teeth. It was lucky someone already invented toothbrush in this world, which in her own world only adopted in Europe during the 17th century. The cool water effectively sobered her up, and when she returned, Ginny had already laid out the hairstyling tools on the dresser. 

“Your hair need all the help it can get.” Ginny explained upon her glare.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. She put on petticoat and bodice over the smock, let Ginny laced her up, then pull the gown over her head. This world’s fashion was closed to the styles of Western Europe in late 18th century to early 19th century in her world, but fortunately there were enchantment on garments to keep them stylish and comfortable.

At least she didn’t have to worry about being strangled by bodices or wearing wigs.

.Ginny nudged her in front of the dresser impatiently: “Hurry, Ron is probably already outside.” 

“He agreed to escort us?” Hermione ask surprised, “I thought it would be Fred or George.”

“Ron wants to meet up with his friends in Three Broomsticks,” Ginny said brushing her unruly chestnut mane,” You should stop Crookshank from sleeping on bed, Hermione. You got fur in your hair.”

Hermione shrugged: “He doesn’t like the shelter. Besides, it feels kinda nice to cuddle with him, as long as he keeps himself clean.”

“You spoiled him,” Ginny said, wiring a blue ribbon in her hair, “Why did you stay up late last night anyway? I thought we had a deal. ”

“I needed to finish the assignment Regulus gave me, he is going to quiz me the day after tomorrow.”

“He is too hard on you,” Ginny sniffed, her gaze fell on the full bookcase in the corner, “He gives you at least three books a week!”

Hermione chuckled:” Come on, Ginny, Regulus is a good tutor and you know that. I don’t mind pushing my limit, and he did agree to teach us about fencing, didn’t he? Not many man will agree to that.”

“Well, you have a point,” Ginny nodded approvingly, “And he kept his promise of not telling mum, that’s something.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t care.”

“Maybe.” Ginny agreed, then peered at the pile of letters on her nightstand: “Are you sure it’s not the letters from your dear Thomas that kept you up all night?” 

Hermione snorted, a hint of blush on her pale cheeks: “Ginny, please. Thomas is just my teacher. Besides, he could be older than Mancha.”

“Well, you told me yourself that he is charming, and still single…”

The two girls walked downstairs making chitchat. Ron was already waiting in front of the coach, tapping his feet impatiently. He climbed in behind the two girls: “what took you so long? Is it Hermione’s hair again?” 

“Hey!” Hermione glared at him: “you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron, you know that?”

“Don’t mind him,” Ginny looked at a stain on Ron’s waistcoat pointedly, “at least some of us actually put effort in our appearance.”

“I just don’t get time for laundry.” Ron grumbled as the horse broke into a brisk trot. He and Ginny exchanged harmless banter along the road, until they arrived at Madam Malkin’s. Ron put them down in front of the shop and appointed two hours to meet again, before he sauntered off to Three Broomsticks. Ginny put her hand on the crook of Hermione arm and lead her into the dress shop, heading straight to the counter, until she spotted an elegant champagne ball gown. 

“Wow,” Ginny breathed, touching the smooth satin on the dress gingerly, “Look at this, so glossy.”

“It’s pretty,” Hermione admitted, “the color suits your hair.”

Ginny gasped when she saw the price tag:”350 gallons? That’s a bit too dear.”

“You want this dress?”

Ginny nodded:” I am sure it will look good on me if I go to the ball in this.”

Hermione said softly: “You don’t need extravagant dress to impress Prince Harry, Ginny. You have a handsome enough feature, and if Prince Harry is indeed as nice and intelligent as Ron says, he will be able to see past the exterior. ” 

“Yeah…but the dress helps, right?” Ginny said with a blush, “do you think Madam Malkin would give us a discount?”

“I doubt it,” Hermione tapped her lower lip thoughtfully, “look, Ginny, if you truly want to impress…I can try to put some enchantment on your gown, or transfigure them, if you like.”

“Really? You would do that for me?” Ginny asked excitedly, beaming at her: “Thank you, Hermione!”

“Don’t get your hopes up yet,” Hermione reminded her, “A simple enchantment may need weeks work, not including the time for gathering necessary materials; and transfiguration has a time limit, I will need to cast again after the effects wear off.”

“Oh,” Ginny blinked up at her confusedly, “can you just conjure a replica of this gown?”

Hermione shook her head: “Conjuration also has a time limit. Moreover, it’s tricky to create something that fits an exact specification, rather than a general one. I can conjure a simple dress, but an exact replica of the champagne dress is too difficult. Permanent transfiguration is easier.”

Ginny frowned: “But I thought you just told me transfiguration has a time limit?”

“It has,” Hermione nodded, “but the exact amount of time is depend on the power of the spell used, and I haven’t got to that kind of spells yet. It’s possible to transform something permanently when combined with charm, potion or enchantment, no need to rely on spell alone. Besides, an improperly done transformation could result in the object stay in the half-transfigured state forever, you won’t want your dress to be ruined like that. ”

Ginny just gaped at her after the long speech:” How did you even memorize all that? You are like walking encyclopedia!”

“I just did,” Hermione shrugged in an indifferent manner, “you will be able to if quizzed every day.” 

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny said, shaking her head, “you are so scarily clever, you know that?”

Hermione laughed:” Yeah, I know, and I’m not sorry for it.”

“You don’t have to,” Ginny reassured her, “It’s good to have a genius on my side.”

Their chitchat was interrupted by Madam Malkin walking out around the hangers. She was a squat women strawberry blond hair that was carefully slicked into waves, and a friendly, sweet round face. The girls curtseyed at her, which Madam Malkin returned, smiling at them fondly:” Ginny, Hermione, it’s so good to see you. You are here for the measurement of ball gowns, I peruse? ”

The girls nodded and proceed to select the fabric for their gown. Ginny took her time in picking ribbons for her new bonnet, when Hermione listened on absentmindedly, running different kind of styling enchantment and transformation spell in her mind. After an hour of meticulous choosing, Ginny finally decided on a kind of cream colored sindon with small patterns of marigold dotted all over it. Hermione picked out a roll of cerulean blue moire, which shone like seawater under candlelight.

Madam Malkin approached Hermione when Ginny was taking her measurement, wringing her fingers:” Hermione, my dear, did you bring the potion?”

Hermione startled, then took out a vial from her purse: “Yes, yes I have.” 

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Malkin breathed a sigh of relief, “Miss Edgecombe will have a fit if I can’t fix the color of her dress before the ball. Thank you, Hermione, you are such a dearie!”

“You are welcome.” Hermione smiled at her, then continued to check the shop for new enchantments. After a quick scan she found nothing new, but the rest was still interesting. Modification charms were general used on bodices and breeches to make the wearer looks good, and transformation and potions were used on fabrics for different hues of color and exquisite design. 

Hermione could see the magic trace of the charms too, but fainter than the magic trace of a caster. Thomas had told her that it was a talent called the Inner-Sight, and warned her against touching someone else’s magic directly. Magic of different individuals would often clash with each other, leaving an uncomfortable burning or shocked feeling on the weaker party. 

The thought of Thomas brought a small smile to Hermione’s lips. Regulus was a proficient teacher and good friend, but Thomas was enticing and admirable, intelligent and witty, and almost omniscient in all aspects of knowledge. He was the best teacher she ever had, his explanation concise and clear, and he could always provide extra materials if he thought it necessary. He was the perfect tutor for her, if only she can meet him face-to-face.

However, she would not call Thomas her friend. He was not very patient, confident to the point of almost egoistical, his criticizing so sharp that it bordered bullying sometimes, and she could sense a manipulative edge carefully buried in his considerate words. He was someone to look up to, but not affable enough to be your true friend. Hermione revered him, but deep down she couldn’t bring herself to trust him. She asked Regulus about him, but her teacher just said he was a great and brilliant wizard, and it was lucky for Hermione to receive his tutoring.

After two and a half hours of shopping, the girls finally came out of the shop satisfied. Ron was nowhere in sight, so they strolled down the street in direction of the tavern, hoping to find their brother there. Frequently they would stop to greet acquaintances, with Ginny running into some admirers along the way. She was quite popular in town, both for her beauty and her statue for being the only daughter of the Baron. Hermione was somewhat off-limits, as her lineage was a bit vague, and everybody knows she would be off to Hogsmade for education when she finished tutoring under Regulus. However, that doesn’t mean she was not pretty; in fact, Hermione could be absolutely striking if she made an effort at it.

Ron was just heading out when they arrived at the tavern door, laughing and patting his friend’s shoulders. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were both fine, decent young man, friendly and good-humored; they bid Ron farewell when they see the ladies coming, though Dean looked a bit reluctant to part way without sharing a word or two with Ginny. 

Ron helped them with the purchase and the three of them climbed in the carriage and headed home. Ginny was excited about her new gown and the coming ball, so Ron proceed to tell them about the times he spent as the royal guard of Prince Harry, who he would return to after the vacation was over. 

“…Prince Harry is really nice, agreeable actually. He call out my name on the first day, can you believe that? I mean, most people just call me Charlie or Percy’s little brother, or the younger Weasley. Harry was the crown prince, he doesn’t have the need to memorize the name of a mere guard. ”

Hermione listened on absentmindedly, picking on the emerald ribbon and garnet buttons in the parcel, thinking about the stuffed snakes she was going to make for her two tutors. She would try the new dancing enchantment Regulus taught her on them, then presented the stuffed animals as Midsummer gifts. It was not the first time she sent them gifts: Regulus would always accept with a stiff thanks then put the decorative ones on display, when Thomas would and discuss the enchantment on the gifts with her, sometimes sent small trinkets in return. Hermione treasured them all, seeing them as her connection to this new world.

It’s interesting that both of her tutors were from Slytherin, which Regulus dismissed as coincidence. You already lived in Gryffindor, he said, it was only fair that your tutor came from other kingdoms. And Thomas was the most qualified wizard they can find, it was only suitable he became Hermione’s tutor.

When the carriage arrived in front of the Weasley manor, the three teens was surprised to find Arthur’s coach at the gate. Lord Weasley was supposed to be in the Godric Hollow at this time, attending business in the House of Peers. Why did he return home early?

“Is father back home already?” Ginny said happily, climbed down after Hermione and Ron, “Thought he won’t be home until next week. I wonder if he made the purchases on the list I gave him…” 

Her happy prattle was stopped when a distraught Molly Weasley walked out of the gate, rushed to them like a lioness and enveloped the girls in a fierce hug: “Thank Merlin you are back! I thought you were taken too!”

She let out a loud sob, which startled them greatly. Lady Weasley was a strong character, and she seldom revealed such vulnerability. Hermione patted her shoulder worriedly:” What happened, Auntie? Are you okay?”

Hermione became part of the family after taking up residence in the Weasley Manor. She would never forget her real parents on the other side of the wall, but the Weasleys was her family on this side, so Lady Weasley became “Aunt Molly”, Lord Weasley became “Uncle Arthur”, when the other kids became her new brothers and sister.

“Oh, Hermione…” Molly released them with a firm squeeze, showing her an opened letter with trembling hands, looking embarrassed, angry and apprehension at the same time, “Arthur was kidnapped. I just got the letter from the culprit, along with his hat, and…a bundle of hair.”

“WHAT?!” Ron bellowed, “Someone took father? But When? How? Why?”

Hermione scanned the letter and was rendered speechless. Molly glanced at Hermione with a look of unease: “They want Hermione in exchanger of Arthur. If we ever wanted to see Arthur alive, Hermione must be delivered to the deserted mill on the edge of Dean’s forest before the end of today.”

“But that’s absurd!” Ron said indignantly, “How can we just sacrifice Hermione like that?”

Ginny clutched Hermione’s hand tightly, as if afraid she would disappear anytime: “Maybe it’s a buff….. We should ask the town mages for help.”

“I flooed, but none was at home,” Molly said, looking upset, “Regulus was out of town visiting his friend, Kreacher told me so. Mancha was currently travelling in Ravenclaw, and I owled both of them. It is your dad’s hair, I checked…”

Hermione pursed her lips and looked at the letter from kidnapper. Its tone were curt and businesslike, with accurate grammar but sloppy handwriting. She doubted that the letter might be transcribed by someone low-skilled at the abductor’s dictation. The culprit, or culprits, knew about both her and Arthur’s agenda, and they chose to abduct the master of the house when they had other easier choice. And why would they want her? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just take her instead?

Was she an addition bonus beside the Baron, or was she their true goal? 

“Well, if they have requested me,” Hermione said slowly, twirling the crystal beads on her bracelet, “let’s go meet them then.”

Ginny snapped up her head: “Hermione!” 

Ron started to protest, but Hermione waved him off, looking squarely at Molly in the eyes: “They want me, are they not? They wouldn’t make this request if they just need Uncle Arthur.”

Molly looked torn:” But, Hermione---”

“It’s okay, ”Hermione reassured her, “we are not entirely defenseless. Ron is good with his sword, and I’m an apprentice mage. We will be able to escape if things turn ugly. Besides, Uncle Arthur can’t wait.”

“I’m going as well,” Ginny said firmly,” I can wield a sword too.”

“Ginny!” Molly gasped in surprise, “when did you---” 

“It’s not relevant,” Ginny dismiss her mother’s question, “I will come whether you allow it or not.”

Molly opened her mouth, then close it with a snap. She knew her daughter, Ginny inherited the stubborn trait from herself: ”Fine. But you have to be careful, all of you! I will go with you, at least I have a wand to help.”

“I can notify Dean and Seamus----” Ron started, but Hermione shook her head.

“There’s no time,” she told him, “Just let me grab some charm, then we will get going.”

 

After three miles’ drive, the three Weasleys and Hermione arrived at the spot mentioned in the letter. The dewy woodland was solitary and still, as the carriage came to a halt in front of the mill with a screen, the sails of the windmill wheeling round slowly. Molly insisted Hermione remain in the coach when the other three scanned the area, looking for clues for the kidnappers.

Hermione wanted to protest, but Ginny chimed in:” Mum is right, Hermione, let us handle it; you just need to show your face through the window. They may just left more instructions in the mill you know, I don’t see anyone here now, so this may not be the trading spot.”

“But wouldn’t I be safer with you lot?” Hermione argued, rising her eyebrows.

Ginny paused, then looked at Molly with uncertainty. The latter signed:” you got a point. Come on then.”

They scattered around the mill looking for clues, Ginny holding her hand and Ron tracing behind her. They were near the grinder when a sound of horse galloping broke out in the distance; Ron whirled around and briskly walked out of the mill, closely followed by Ginny. Hermione was the last out, however, when she reached the exit, there was a shimmer in the air, then a thin sheet of magic veil suddenly appeared before her, blocking her in.

Hermione jumped up in alarm, open her mouth to call for the Weasley siblings, but before she can utter a sound, a masked man walked out of thin air beside her and grabbed her arm. Hermione felt a sharp pull somewhere behind the navel, then disappeared from the mill with the man behind her.

Hermione had never used a portkey before, only read about one. So, she staggered at the landing, and the minor jinx in her hand missed the man narrowly. The abductor did not give her second chance to aim, as he swiftly petrified her then levitated her stiff body in the air, trailing behind him when he walked purposely into the woods.

Hermione didn’t know where they were, only that they are still in a forest area somewhere. Her kidnapper was entirely covered by an unmarked black cloak, with hoods and mask to conceal his face. He was completely indistinctive, his spells casted non-verbally, his gait plain and common, his magic signature unfamiliar. Hermione wondered that if she could escape him if the jinx was successfully cast; maybe not, this man was a competent wizard and his reflex was quicker.

She was too busy analyzing the situation to feel fear, and surprised when the man stopped at a clearing. He brandished his wand in a specific pattern, before murmuring a spell she had never heard before:” Morsmordre!”

A gust of grey smoke burst from the tip of his wand and assembled a cloud in the air before them, from which a heavy black stone gate materialized. A giant skull cameo slowly rouse from the surface, its empty eye socket watching them impassively. The masked man gave a deep bow in respect, then lightly tapped the gate with his wand tip three times:” Your Grace. I’ve brought Miss Granger here for you.”

Your Grace? Is the man behind the kidnap a member of royalty? But what kind of royalty would abduct a baron just to capture her? 

A huge emerald serpent slithered out of the skull’s open jaw, hissing at them in a cold, deep male voice: “Send her in.”

The skull’s jaw closed after the snake retreated. Silently the gate opened, revealing a gloomy garden behind it. The masked man waved his wand and threw her in unceremoniously. Her rigid body was caught by the floating black fog in the air, which put her down on the ground gently, then released her from the petrifying spell. Hermione gasped and rubbed her stiff neck, before looked up and caught by a pair of familiar ruby eyes.

“Hello, dear,” Lord Voldemort greeted her softly, “Welcome to my castle…again.”

There was a jet of red light, then everything went dark.


	4. Interview with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione had dinner with Voldemort and signed a magical binding contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to look up Enlightenment Era fashion in wiki, but it’s worth it. Hope you like the dress in this chapter!

Hermione woke up in a room of luxury. It was a round stone suit with a lavatory, a dressing room and a bedroom, the living room consists of a large fireplace, vaulted ceilings and high windows, from which she can see the garden beneath. A portrait of a defeat-looking woman hung above the fireplace, who was sleeping when Hermione sat down on the couch in front of the warm fire, her pale, heavy face half-hiding in her wide-cuffed trumpet sleeves. 

Hermione fingered the flimsy silken chemise on her body apprehensively. Before she woke up on the king-sized four-poster in the bedroom, someone had taken away all her belongs, then bathed her body and washed her hair. She smelled like laurel and lemon and jasmine, every inch of her body scrubbed clean. Who did this to her? She could only hope Voldemort had house elf to cleanse her, it was still a blatant violation of her privacy, but at least those little elves were better than the most dangerous dark wizard of all time. Besides, she wished Voldemort didn’t do more than cleansing her. 

He could not be that perverted, could he? 

Being only 11 when she fell into this world, Hermione had no experience on sexual aspects; she knew about the birds and bees stuff, and read about paraphilia on books discussing psychology, but she never saw the naked body of the other sex. In this world, she had six brothers who was fiercely protective over their little sisters, and an aunt who stressed on decency and proper behavior of a lady, so she didn’t even get a chance for romance. In other words, Hermione was quite innocent, so she wouldn’t know even if Voldemort had actually done anything unsavory. She could only take the fact as a good sign that there was no visible marks on her body.

But why did he want her clean in the first place? He was not going to use her on some bizarre ritual of dark arts, would he? Hermione didn’t know enough about dark arts to be sure; Regulus had held some reading materials on dark arts, but they were mostly academic, and the illustrations repulsed her, so she didn’t read much on this subject. Or was Voldemort a clean freak?

An image of the snake-faced skeletal man in white lab coat popped into Hermione’s mind, making her giggle. The imaginary Voldemort took out a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled down on his clipboard, then pushed up his golden trimmed glasses with a boney index finger and looked at her with a straight face, his tone serious:” …you should always wash your hand after environmental contact…”

Well, he can always use a sticking charm for the glasses.

Hermione let out another round of giggle, relaxing a bit. Living with Fred and George really had knocked some senses of humor in her, and thanks to them, Hermione had learnt to turn her overactive imagination into a weapon against her fear, so she could imagine amusing pictures in her mind to push away horrifying scenes.

Her giggle turned into a yelp of surprise when a house elf popped out in front of her, bowing deeply: “Lady Hermione! My name is Hokey and I will be your servant during your stay in the castle.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hermione sat up straight in the coach, gave the house elf a mild admonishing look, “you almost gave me a heart-attack.”

“I am sorry!” the house elf immediately apologized, her large, tennis-ball-like yellow eyes quickly filled with tears, “Hokey didn’t mean it! Hokey didn’t mean to scare the lady! ”

“Oh no, “Hermione waved dismissively, “I’m not---”

Before Hermione could finish her sentence, Hokey suddenly grabbed her bat-like ears and hit her head against the wall repeatedly: “Bad Hokey! BAD elf! Hokey scared the guest of her master, Hokey is a bad elf! Bad, bad, BAD!” 

Each word was accompanied by a vicious hit against the wall, and only after the third hit did Hermione snap out of her stupor. She jumped out of the sofa and grabbed the neck of the elf’s pillowcase:” No, no, stop! I wasn’t blaming you! ”

Hokey stopped hesitantly and let out a sniffle: “La…Lady Hermione didn’t blame Hokey?”

“Of course not!” Hermione patted the elf’s bony shoulder tentatively, then added in a softer tone:” It was not your fault. I was just fussing. Don’t punish yourself in front of me again, Hokey.”

“Oh,” Hokey looked at her with timid eyes, “Lady Hermione does not like to see Hokey punished?”

Hermione firmly shook her head:” No.”

The elf blinked, then her face lit up:” Oh, I understand! Hokey won’t let Lady Hermione see it the next time she punish herself!”

“What?! No, no, that’s not what I mean!” Hermione hurriedly waved her hand, “I mean, you shouldn’t punish yourself at all! You have done nothing wrong!”

Hokey looked up at her in confusion:” But, milady---”

“By Merlin,” Hermione facepalmed, muttering in exasperation, “What the hell are you thinking? Even Kreacher has more dignity than you. ”

She squatted down and looked the elf squarely in the eyes, trying hard to convey friendliness: ”Hokey, I mean it. Don’t treat yourself with such brutality again, okay? Human might enslaved you for generations, so long that they think your kind are born slaves, but that’s not right, not right at all! You should be allowed equal rights as any other magical races, have your own choice and live as you please, not enslaved upon birth and forced to endure such brutal treatment! ”

Hokey appeared horrified by her idea:” Lady Hermione want to set Hokey free?”

“I would certainly love to---no, no, no, no calm down, I respect your wishes to work,” Hermione quickly reassured, “besides, I can’t free you even if I want to, can I? For I am not your … err, employer, right? What I’m saying is, if you have done anything inadequate, I will tell you directly, so that you can try again; there’s no need for such violence, okay? I really, really hate to somebody hurt, or mistreated. It makes me uncomfortable. ”

“O…Okay…” Hokey starched her big ears in bewilderment, thought for a moment, then gave her a toothy grin, “Lady Hermione is so nice! Hokey is happy to serve Lady Hermione!”

“I should have done something for you if I am truly nice.” Hermione muttered somewhat abashed, then smiled at the elf kindly:” Never mind. What are you here for, Hokey?”

“Oh!” Hokey clapped her tine hands together, “Master want Hokey to help dress you up and lead you downstairs to dine with him, milady.”

“What?” Hermione said irately, “I am not his doll to play with.”

“But if milady refuse, Hokey will be punished,” the elf looked up to her with teary eyes, “and Master will be angry with Lady Hermione, too!”

Hermione paused. Making Voldemort angry sounded a bad idea; until now on he had been civil enough to her, she’d better not push it. Plus, she didn’t want to meet Voldemort in only a slim, transparent chemise.

“Fine,” she conceded, “but nothing excessive.”

The elf smiled brightly and snapped her fingers. Thin strings of bronze color shot out from her fingertips into the dressing room hangers, wrapped around several pieces of garments, then drew back with a bundle of silks and muslin. The clothes were not her size, but with enchantments ensuring a snug, firm fit. Hokey had picked out a mint-green gown with opened fronts to show the matching petticoat underneath, the low neckline trimmed with lace ruffles. The close-fitting sleeves past the elbow were also trimmed with ruffles, with engageantes of fine linen tacked to the chemise sleeves. Overall, it was the most Rococo style dress Hermione had ever seen.

“Do I have to wear that?” Hermione eyed the dress, alarmed, “with all those ruffles and laces?”

Hokey answered in a squeaky voice: “But Master want Lady Hermione to dress formally! Best be court dress, he said. ”

“My goodness, this man has issues.” Hermione shook her head, and proceed to put on the undergarments. Hokey laced her up and pulled the silk gown over her head, arranged the ruffles on the sleeves, before starting to fix her hair. A thought hit Hermione as the elf was carefully brushing her mane:” Hokey, was it you who bathed me when I arrived?”

“Yes, milady, Master ordered me so.”

“Did he told you why he want me clean?” 

“No, milady.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, watching as Hokey applied potion on her hair:” Where is my belongings anyway? Did Voldemort tell you to---”

The elf let out a fearful squeak and dropped the can of product she was holding:” Milady! You shouldn’t say that name out loud! Master will be angry if you do!”

”That’s rather melodramatic, don’t you think?” Hermione raised her eyebrows, “if I can’t use that name, how should I address him then? You-Know-Who? You-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Milady, you must never offend Master that way!” Hokey warned seriously, “Master will punish you if he felt you are being disrespectful. Hokey doesn’t want to see Lady Hermione hurt… ”

Hermione frowned:” He won’t punish you as well, will he?”

The elf nodded affirmatively: “If Lady Hermione offend Master, he will hold Hokey responsible and order punishment.”

“That’s preposterous,” Hermione huffed, despising Voldemort more every passing minute, “What should I call him then?”

“You can address him as ‘Your Grace’, milady.”

“Doesn’t look like a grace to me,” Hermione rolled her eyes, then relented, “Fine, I will take that in mind. Where is my belongings, anyway? ” she touched her bare wrist, the rune gleaming faintly in the candlelight, “I miss my bracelet.”

“Master took them away when you bathed, milady.”

Hermione muttered in annoyance: “Of course.”

Hokey continued her work by weaving ropes of small pearls and gems in her braid, then tacked fresh flowers in her dress. Hermione sized up the dazzling girl in the mirror, feeling like Marie Antoinette in one of her portraits:” Hokey, are you sure that Vol…err, your master’s wish is to dine with me, not dine on me, are you? ” 

Hokey didn’t get the joke, just answered in a serious tone:” Yes, I’m sure. Master wishes to dine with you, milady. ”

“Uh huh,” Hermione watched the girl in the mirror rolled her large amber eyes,” And I feel so privileged.”

 

Despite being dressed as a regal Queen, Hermione still felt like a sacrificing lamb when Hokey led her through the gloomy corridor of the castle. Or the silent lamb for that matter. Voldemort had a worse reputation than Hannibal Lecter in history; she wouldn’t put cannibal past him. Hermione sincerely hoped they won’t be serving human hearts and livers with fava beans and baby oil (oil obtained from babies) at the dinner. 

Hermione breathed deeply, trying to push the images of Voldemort eating a still-living victim’s brain back into her mind. This was the disadvantage of having a vivid imagination: it was incredibly hard to get these gruesome pictures out of her mind. Voldemort was a dark wizard, not a cannibal, there was no evidence on history suggesting that he had such fetish, she just watched too much episodes of Criminal Minds in childhood. 

Low murmurs of conversation accompanied them as the two walked through corridors with portraits lining on the wall, appraising her as they went. Hermione kept a straight faces, until an old man made some lewd comment regarding her figure. She whipped around and gave the portrait a pointed look:” Excuse me?” 

The old man jumped, his overlong arms swaying a bit under a very board shoulder:” You can understand what I said?!”

“Of course! It’s not like you were quiet about it,” Hermione snapped, “just keep your comment to yourself, pervert!”

“How come?!” the old man said in disbelief, “How can you understand? This is a skill only gifted to the true blood of Salazar!”

Hermione frowned, opened her mouth to ask more only to be interrupted by a light tug on her sleeve. Hokey looked up to her questionably:” Lady Hermione?”

Hermione made a mental note to ask the Mojo Jojo later, then followed the elf out of the corridor. They rounded the corner and walked down a spiral stairway, before stopped in front of an ornate double door standing at the end of the hallway. Hokey walked up and knocked the snake-shaped handle, releasing a melodious ringing after doing so. Few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a big candlelit dining hall in rectangular shape. A long table stood in the center, where Voldemort sat at one end calmly, relaxing back with elbows on the armrests and feet crossed, observing her with a thoughtful express. 

Hermione stopped abruptly at the door. Voldemort’s appearance was drastically different from last time, not only that he looked human (except the ruby eyes), but his ever present black fog was also absent, making him seem noting but a normal gentleman, which only made her more cautious. He was wearing a Brunswick satin waistcoat with matching breeches, snow-white linen shirt with frilled sleeves, and no cravat. A stretch of pale flesh showed between the ruffles on the collar, above which his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, the movement causing a shift of gleam on his sinewy neck in the candle light.

Voldemort let out a low, throaty chuckle when he caught her staring. Cheeks burning, Hermione snapped her gaze away and followed Hokey to the other end of the table. House elves brought forth basins and linen towels for hands washing, then wait beside the table to serve the diners. Hokey pulled out the chair for her, and Hermione glanced at Voldemort subconsciously, who gave an imperceptible nod, and sat down with her back straight and hands in the laps.

Only after taking the seat did she realized she had behaved like a trained dog, bringing a scowl to her face. Must be his body language, Hermione analyzed, the way Voldemort presented himself was just oozing out confidence and authority, commanding her obedience even without the menacing black cloud of his magic. Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself, trying to remain calm and shrewd; it would not do to let him intimidate her in the negotiating, if there will be any negotiating at all.

“Good evening, Hermione,” Voldemort said courtly and waved his hand over the table, “please, enjoy your meal.”

Hermione nodded, too agitate to answer, and avoided her eyes. She didn’t want to get her thoughts picked by the most accomplished Legillmen in history. Why was he so civil with her when she was completely in his power? What did she have that he couldn’t take by force? His attitude almost seemed friendly, as if he was nothing but a pleasant host, and all of this was creeping her out.

Food and drinks appeared on the table when Hermione was busy speculating his ultimate motive, and she stiffened a bit when Hokey’s bronze string of magic shot up to cut bread for her. Hermione thanked the elf softly and reached for a jug of pumpkin juice, but stopped when a derisive snort was heard across the table.

“What?” Hermione looked up defensively,” What’s so funny?”

“You,” Voldemort said simply, sipping wine from his goblet, “so amiable. Pity that such manners is wasted on house elves.” 

“I was just being polite.” Hermione retorted, miffed by his condescending tone, “it’s social etiquette.”

“It’s no use. House elves are bound by magic and can only follow the orders of their master, they can’t disobey me even if you fawn on them.”

Hermione’s jaw didn’t drop, but it was close. Why did he believe that she has a purpose of being polite? The statement was so utilitarian that she could not even form a proper retort, the only thing she was able to ground out was:” I did not fawn on them.”

“Habitual kindness then,” he observed, setting down the goblet, “kindness to the unworthy only makes you appear weak.”

“There is nothing wrong with being kind.” Hermione argued, starting to feel annoyed.

“Naïve,” Voldemort said shaking his head, “Oh, my dear Hermione. I have so much to teach you.”

Hermione looked up in alarm: “What do you mean by ‘teach me’? I don’t want to learn anything from you.”

“That, I’m afraid, is not for you to decide,” Voldemort raised one hand to stop her upcoming question, gesturing toward the table, “Why don’t we have discussion after the meal, hem? You wouldn’t want the house elves’ efforts go to waste, would you?”

“But---”

“Patience is a virtue, Granger.”

The threatening edge in his tone successfully shut her up. Hermione silently bristled, but started eating anyway, casing surreptitious glances at him from time to time. The food was divine, and a bit more than two people can consume, not as extravagant as she expected from an ostentatious character as him, but certainly a great feast. There were partridges, oysters and a roasted suckling pig, stews of fish and vegetable with mouth-watering aroma, a fair amount of fresh fruits, and even gelato and sorbet for desserts, much to Hermione’s delight.

Hokey waited beside the table, helping her break breads and crave meats, or fetch food that were out of her arm’s reach. Voldemort didn’t need any help though, his magic perform the tasks for him, grey threads stretched out of his body to hold knives and forks, making him look like a refined version of Doctor Octopus. It’s the most nature and advanced display of magic she had ever seen, he use magic as appendages of his body, like extra hands or fingers, and he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing.

Hermione tried to force out her golden beam of magic under the table and grab the table cloth, but it felt strained, and once it was out of her hand, she couldn’t bend the beam at her will. Once the ray was out of her body, it felt like a dead thing, a rope of some kind, not the living tentacle as Voldemort’s black smoke, and she certainly couldn’t multi-wield.

Frustrated, Hermione made a third attempt, extracting more from her core this time, the flush heated up in her veins. The beam burst out of her fingertips, brighter this time, leaving a burning sensation on her skins. Before she could stop herself, the beam of her magic caught the cloth and set it on fire. 

Hermione gasped, the beam withdrew into her body instinctively. Voldemort waved his hand toward the fire and snuffed it out with a puff of his smoke, then looked up at her with an arched eyebrow. Hermione turned scarlet and put a spoon between her lips, trying to cover her embarrassment. 

He smirked, then commented in a light tone: “It takes practice to master one’s own magic, darling.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Hermione snapped, “we are not that well-acquainted.”

“Oh, but you are wrong, we are very well-acquainted,” Voldemort made a gesture and dismiss the elves from the dining hall, as well as the leftovers on the table, “after all, I did play tutor and confidant of yours for five years, pet.”

“What?” Hermione asked with a sinking feeling in her gut, “What are you talking about?”

Voldemort made a specific gesture with his hand, vaguely reminding her of the wand movement for a conjuring spell. A pile of letters popped out on the table, her own neat writing on their envelops:” Check the letters if you want proof, dear Miss Granger.”

Hermione stiffened, stared the letters with a mix of emotions, biting her lower lip. She didn’t want to believe him, but she would reorganize her scribbles everywhere. A moment later, she reached out and took the one on the top, pulled out the parchment and scanned the content.

“Dear Professor Travenor:  
Thank you for your quick reply! I’ve read the books you recommended, and I was quite interested in the ‘Unseelie Accord’ between various magical races and humans, especially between faeries and mages. You told me last time that it’s in faeries’ nature to bargain and deal with mortals, and they are bound by the code of trading and balance. It makes me wonder, is the Accord a kind of bargain with the mortals as well? What will the faeries gain from it, or is it based on a code of balance? I’ve heard some stories from travelers, about encountering faeries and be given offers, and I want to know… ”

Hermione threw the letter down, eyes stinging with hot tears. Shock, anger, hurt and confusion seething and boiling in her heart like a wrongly brewed potion, ready to explode. She had been played like a fool, willingly given personal information to man who tried to kill her once, and admired this psychopathic mass murder. She thought that Burrow was safe, that Voldemort was just a nightmare of past in her new life, but no, she was still in his clutch, an ignorant fly caught in his web of manipulation.

Hell, she even told him her menstrual cycle so that he can calculate the tiding pattern of her magical power!

Voldemort sniggered: “Oh yes, I know your age at menarche. A bit delayed it seemed. ”

Embarrassed, Hermione hissed in anger:” Stop reading my mind, you pervert!”

“I didn’t, it’s written all over your face,” Voldemort shrugged, obviously enjoying her discomfort, “Besides, you told me the date yourself. I was just concerned about your health.”

In the cauldron of her heart, anger began to bubble to the surface. Unbidden, the image of her gorging out his eyes and spoon-feeding them back into his mouth popped into Hermione’s mind, and it took some effort for her to push the violent thought down. 

The cat-like slits in Voldemort’s eyes narrowed: “Granger, I’ve been nothing but civil to you so far, when I can do a lot worse than that. You’d better show your future master some respect if you know what’s good for you.”

“Then don’t read my thoughts if you don’t like it,” Hermione growled, “and you certainly are no master of mine!”

In a blink of eye, Voldemort disappeared from his chair and soundlessly apparated beside her. Hermione gasped, instinctively tried to move away, only to be tied to the chair with vines which weren’t there seconds ago. Vines as emerald as poisonous snakes sprouted from the floor, climbed up her body and bound her ankles and wrists to the chair. Tiny thorns pricked her skin when she tried to move her arm, making her bleed a little. 

Voldemort leaned down and dabbed her wrist with his index finger, the bloodstain gleaming as ruby on his pale skin. He stared at it for a moment, as if fascinated with her blood, then put it between his lips. Hermione watched in horror as Voldemort closed his eyes, as if savoring her blood, a blissful smile on his lips. He looked like the worst kind of demon, a fallen angel, alluring and seductive in his beautiful form, but terrifying in his malice and greed.

“Blood contains power. It’s the simplest form of magic that even muggles can perform. It’s crude, but effective and strong,” His eyes opened, and those intense red gaze fell on her like burning coal, “and the magic in your blood is…intoxicating.”

Voldemort drew a semicircle in the air with his index finger, spanning her chair around and swiftly moved in front of her. He bent down, his hands on the dining table and both side of her, caging her in: “Think of all the things I can do with your blood, the spells and potions, the energy I can derive and deliver. And there are numerous ways to spill it, some brutal and painful, some pleasurable and exquisite….”

The vine on her ankle and wrists tightened, proving his point. Hermione bit down on her lower lip sharply, but refused to make a sound that would certainly please him. Voldemort smiled at her in an almost indulgent way, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear:” There are so many ways I can use you, little one. I can wipe out your memory and mold you as I like; I can torture you into insanity, then chain you in the ritual chamber and harvest power from your deranged emotions; or I can simply perform necromancy in your half-dead state, and make myself a perfectly docile zombie. ”

As he spoke, Hermione could see the horrid images he described, in which her broken body was chained spread-eagled onto a stone floor, with runes craved all over her skin, and small gush of blood flowing freely into the pentacle underneath from the fresh cuts on her naked chest. The images were so real that it made Hermione forgot where she was for a moment, staring at her own lifeless eyes in horror, until he stopped talking and broke the trance, leaving a faint throbbing pain in her head.

Hermione blinked up at him, dazed, her chemise clammy with sweat. Voldemort lifted her chin, his face inches from hers: “You see, Hermione, I’ve been very generous with you. I will tolerate your disobedience as long as you entertain me, but cross the line and I won’t have a single problem to punish you. Are we clear?”

His breath felt warm and left a moist trail on her skin. Hermione’s own hardly came out, and she barely managed to let out an audible “yes”.

Voldemort smiled and brushed his lips with hers lightly, as if rewarding a well-behaved pet. He straightened and back away, much to Hermione’s relief, and pulled a chair opposite hers with tentacles of his magic, before sat down with his legs crossed. 

With a wave he vanished vines and healed her injury, before folding his hands on his laps. Voldemort watched her in a way that reminded Hermione of Marlon Brando in the Godfather movies, with a surety in his eyes as he prepared to make an offer she can’t refuse. His voice was sociable as he spoke: “Now, let’s discuss the purpose you are here for. Go on with your questions, I see you are eager to ask them.”

Hermione considered him warily. She had never anyone like him before, and hardly knew what to expect of him. Knowledge is power, and not only was Voldemort a master of arcane, but he also knew so much about her already through the letters, when she knew so little about him. From what she had seen, he could be sadistic and violent in one second, then calm and sociable in the next; these sudden mood swings, combined with his arrogance, his tendency to manipulate and control, all fitted in the profile of a dangerous psychopath. It was thin ice that she was treading on, and she needed to deal with him carefully if she wanted to come out of this unscathed.

Decided that honesty was the best approach, she asked: “Why did you abduct me, after all these years? And what do you want from me exactly?”

“Why, to continue your education of course. I didn’t prepare you for five years just so you can go to the ball and in marry some stupid nobility in Gryffindor,” Voldemort scoffed, “and I don’t want those nosy Wizengamot Wardens in my business either. As for what I want from you, to put it simply, is loyalty and service. I want you to help me break the sealing curse over my person and this castle, assist me in reclaiming my rightful throne, and others of my…activities afterwards. ”

Hermione had to bit her tongue to stop the scathing remark: “In other words, you want me to be your personal slave.”

His lips curled: “I was thinking more along the line as ‘pet’, but if you wish to be a slave, I can certainly oblige.”

“I don’t want to be your follower.”

“As I said, I have many ways to use you, and I choose the most pleasant one for you.” Voldemort relaxed back, elbows on each chair arm, hands made into a pyramid gesture: “Think of it as payment for my tutoring, Hermione. I could teach you so much, gave you knowledge that nobody can possibly imagine, and push your boundary farther than it had ever been pushed. I can help you to your full potential; you will have the power to be whoever you want, to get whatever you want, all you have to do is to swear your loyalty to me.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop it: “So I can become a snake-faced skeleton without nose like you?”

For a moment Voldemort remained motionless, and Hermione braced herself for the incoming attack. But it never came; instead, he threw back his head and laughed, a cold, high-pitched sound ripped from his throat full of triumph, with an edge of madness in it. Voldemort laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes, and after wiping it off he looked at her in pure mirth.

“You don’t even know what you did to me, do you?” he asked, amused, “Good looks are only useful if you need to charm someone, but knowledge and power will do just the same. It’s a small price to pay to gather more powers, to rid myself of those pathetic weakness of mortal kind. But the transformation has disadvantages, and I’ve made some mistakes in the past that I rather avoid. I never thought it possible, until you came. ” 

He leaned in, his gaze intense and greedy: “Imagine my surprise when your magic knocked into my chest and started to change my body, revised the transformation effects and restored it to the peak of my physical condition. You are special in so many ways, Hermione. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the first person in this world you encountered was me. Fate had dropped you on my doorstep, and you belong to me ever since you cross the wall.”

Hermione stared at him in shock: “Me? You mean it was me who restored your human features? But I didn’t do anything, all I wanted at that time was to get away from you as quickly as possible! ”

“Indeed,” he nodded, “you didn’t intend for anything, your magic acted upon itself, which made it more interesting. It’s possible that your power has an ability to repair and regenerate, and you will have be a fine addition to my collections.”

“I’m not an inanimate object to do with your please!” she hissed back, “And I never asked for your tutoring; you tricked me!”

“No, but I can make you an inanimate object if I want,” he replied cheerfully, “But I need your willingness in the bonding rite, so it’s out of question.”

“Bonding rite?” Hermione gasped in outrage, “I won’t bind myself to you in any way!”

He shook his head in a patronizing manner: “Denial will do you no good, Hermione. I think we already had some kind of link after your magic restored my body, you can never get away from me no matter what. The bond is only to ensure your loyalty, I can’t teach you that much without precaution. ”

Hermione’s mind was whirling as she searched for a way out of this situation. She didn’t want to bond with him, but she wanted information. Maybe she could stall him a little. “Why a bonding rite? Why not an unbreakable vow, or the ones you use in your followers--- the dark mark or something?”

Voldemort smirked: “Why, are you making suggestions?”

“No!” She glared at him, then quickly averted her eyes, “I’m just curious.”

“Ah, always seeking knowledge.” He gave her an approving look, and proceed to explain: “It’s easy to bypass the unbreakable vow using loopholes in the oath, and the price for breaking it will not be so high if you know the right way to do so. Besides, I don’t want anyone else in our business; you are meant to be a special agent, a secret weapon of mine, not some common servant, though I would gladly have my mark on you. With a power like yours, only bonding rites will work properly.”

“You want me to break your seal,” Hermione began carefully, “from what I heard, Dumbledore sacrificed all his magic to the curse. A sealing curse like that is not easily broken; I could die or lose my own power in the process. The force could also rob me of my sanity. You might as well kill me right here to save the effort.”

“A weaker mage will die,” He agreed, “but you won’t. You are too powerful, and valuable for that.”

“How do you know---” she paused, then pursed her lips, “you have tried, have you?”

His smirk widened: “Of course.”

“What will the bond do? And what will happen after the rite?”

“What do you think? Continue your apprenticeship in my castle, of course. Finally I can teach you something more advanced. As for the first question, why don’t you try and find the answer yourself? You have temporized enough already.”

Hermione blanched, and Voldemort smirked. He slipped out his wand and etched a magic circle on the floor, isolating the area for the bonding ritual, which was large enough for two people to stand. The circuit burnt a bright yellow for a moment before it dimmed, revealing two equilateral triangle symbols inside, in the position of a large, planar hourglass.

Voldemort stood up and extended a hand toward her: “Come. The sooner we finished the bonding, the sooner we can get down to business.”

Hermione backed away, putting as much distance as the chair would allow: “What makes you think I will go along with this? To give up my freedom willingly for what, your guidance?”

There was a gleam of temptation in his eyes: “How about a way to cross the wall? Is it enough price in exchange for your service?”

Hermione stiffened and watched him in disbelief, trying hard to snuff out the glimmer of hope in her heart: “You don’t have enough proof to support your offer. If you know a way to cross the wall, then why haven’t you tried it before?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” he asked smoothly, “but no, I have not found a way. However, I do know something about space and plane, and if there is anyone in this world can help you with the research, it will be me.”

“In other words, you haven’t made any progress in this field yet, so you have nothing useful to provide.”

“True,” He admitted, “But I can provide you with the maximum resources. Do you think the Wardens will agree to the necessary experiments on this subject? The Wizengamot are a rigid lot, they put too much restrain on magic, and you will never achieve what you want under normal circumstance. ”

Hermione shook her head stubbornly: “I won’t gamble with my future.”

Voldemort tilted his head and smiled at her in an unpleasant way: “Then I will just have to raise the ante.”

“Oreo!” He called out, his eyes on her when he commanded the house elf, “Go to the dungeon and bring that redhead up here.”

The elf bowed and disapparated. Hermione asked with a sense of imminent doom: “What have you done?!”

Voldemort just smiled widely at her. Seconds later the elf reappeared with a bound and gagged Arthur Weasley, dropped him on the ground beside Voldemort’s chair and disappeared again. Almost at the same time, the dining hall’s door opened, gliding in a large green snake, its body thick as a man’s thigh. 

Hermione jumped up in fright: “Uncle Arthur!”

Arthur Weasley raised his head to her voice, his eyes widened with shock and consternation. He let out a muffled sound, struggling to set up in his tight bounds; Voldemort waved his wand nonchalantly, sending a jet of red light into his body. The force of the crucio briefly lifted Arthur’s body off the ground by a few inches, where the redhead thrashed and writhed like a drowning man, the painful howls choked by his gag, and saliva dripped down from the edge of his mouth.

“NO!” Hermione shrieked and made a lunge for Voldemort, or more specially, his wand, “Stop! Stop it!” 

The Dark Lord calmly sidestepped the attack, then tripped her by stepping on the hem of her long skirt. Hermione yipped and flailed her arms widely, before being caught by his arm around her waist. Voldemort ended the curse and pulled her up roughly, pinning her against his body. Hermione tried to wrench away by driving her elbow into his stomach, but he countered this and grabbed her arms, locking them behind her back with an iron grip. 

Arthur crashed on the floor, eyes rolled to the back of his skull, limbs twitching and jerking in the aftermath of the cruciatus curse. The giant snake slithered over and circled the man, swaying its head from side to side as if waiting for Voldemort’s command. 

Panic rising in her heart, Hermione tried to reach her uncle again, tried to kick Voldemort in the shin but was hindered by the dress again: “Let go, you MONSTER!”

Voldemort gave her arms a vicious twist, almost to the point of dislocation, inciting a painful yelp from Hermione. Tears came to her eyes, and he lifted them a bit, forcing her on tiptoe to keep her arms from actually breaking. He bent down and hissed in her ears quietly: “Now, now, do try to keep your temper, will you? Your uncle’s life is in your hands. Just step inside the circle and swear the oath, then he will be free to go. Be a good girl and I might even reward him for your sheltering.”

“Leave him out of this!” Rage fueled her magic into a tumult, and her skin began to glow with golden energy, “You coward, threatening me like that when you didn’t get it your way, you are nothing but a vile, despicable big bully---”

Voldemort’s magic struck before she could finish the sentence, the dense fog came down on her like thousands of lashes, permeating through her skin and gave every nerve ends in her body a powerful shock. It was transient, but enough to bring Hermione down on her knees. Voldemort left her panting on the ground for a few seconds, then hauled the girl up by her shoulder, grabbed both of her wrist in the front this time.

With his free hand Voldemort grabbed her chin harshly, forcing her to look at him: “Typical foolhardiness of Gryffindor, never think before you act. Watch your tongue, Granger, or it would be a shame to rip it off.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, before pulled at her magic core violently, willing the raw energy through her body, which instinctively formed a primitive blasting curse and rushed to him. However, before she could let it loose, Voldemort’s magic pressed down on her again, constraining her force and broke her concentration with a hard shove on her stomach.

Hermione doubled over and gasped for air, almost emptied her dinner on the floor, when Voldemort tutted his tongue with disapprovingly: “You never learn, do you? Such impudence deserved a punishment, I think.”

Abruptly, he called out: “Nagini!”

The serpent let out a happy hiss, then began to coil up Arthur’s body tightly, so tight that his face turned an alarming shade of purple. Hermione paled as the snake bared its fang: “No! Stop, stop it, please!”

“You had to be more specific about your plea, Hermione,” Voldemort said impassively, “Nagini here are very hungry, you see. If you don’t hurry, your uncle will end up in her stomach very soon. ”

Tears of desperation rolled down her cheeks, as Hermione searched frantically for a solution, but she came up with nothing. There was no escape from this man, she realized; Voldemort had planned for this, had anticipated her every move using the information he gathered from the five-year correspondence, and staged the scene for her submission.

It was indeed an offer she could not refuse.

The snake lowered her head, ready to strike. Hermione jerked in panic: “No! No! Let him go! I will do as you said!”

Voldemort asked smoothly: “Do as I said?”

“Yes!” She was almost sobbing now, “I will participate the ritual, willingly, as you want. Just let me heal him, and let him go, please.”

Voldemort regarded her for a moment, seeing the honesty and defeat in her eyes, he turned to the snake: “Enough. Leave us, Nagini.”

Nagini immediately uncoiled itself from the redhead, hissing in a somewhat reluctant tone: “Sssssssssstill hungry, Master.”

“You will get your dinner elsewhere,” Voldemort reassured her, “Now leave and let me talk to Hermione.”

“The girl food too?” Nagini asked, eyeing Hermione interested, “she smell delicious.”

Voldemort chuckled: “She is a different kind of food. Don’t bite her until I tell you to.”

“Yes, Master.” The snake answered obediently, then slithered away in silence.

Hermione watched the interchange in wary silence, relaxing a bit as Voldemort told the snake not to bite her. She had startled when Nagini speak, and wondered why she can understand the snake. Was the snake talking in English (Lucky that this world use the same languages in her world), or was she somehow able to understand the language of reptiles? 

There was an ability named Parseltongue, which enabled human to converse with serpents, but it was a very uncommon skill, and nearly all known parselmouth were descended from Salazar Slytherin, with Paracelsus and Herpo the foul being the only two example. But it was an innate skill, and she was sure she couldn’t speak with snakes before crossing the wall; her parents had taken her to the zoo when she was 9, and all the serpents there just hissed unintelligible to her.

Was this the link Voldemort talked about?

Somehow she doubted it would be a good idea to let Voldemort knew that she could understand their conversation, so Hermione kept her mouth shut until Nagini left, then asked as compliant as she can: “Can I see my uncle now?”

Still she failed to keep the resentment out of her voice, but Voldemort didn’t seem offended, just waved his hand dismissively: “The house elves will take care of that after the ritual. Come, it’s running late, and you have a lot to learn tomorrow."

Hermione bit her lips in apprehension: “But how do I know you will---”

“I will,” Voldemort steered her toward the circle, “Lord Voldemort always keeps his words. Now get here and finish the bonding, you’ve waste enough time already.”

They stepped inside the circuit, each standing inside a triangle, facing each other. With a precise slicing charm Voldemort made a cut across his left palm, then let a single drop of his blood fell on the circuit. As soon as the blood touched the line, there was a light hissing in the air, his magic rushed out, erecting up a translucent wall around them, caging their magic inside the circle.

“Hand.” Voldemort ordered, and Hermione gave him her hand silently, wincing a bit as he cut it open. He press their palms together, fingers intertwined in an imitate fashion. Hermione could feel the power humming in his blood, dark and aggressive as his person, and it sent a slight shock through her magic as their blood mixed. 

Voldemort watched her in the eyes, his gaze hypnotizing and possessive. He chanted in an unknown language repetitively, almost melodious in his low, silky voice, and began to walking slowly clockwise around the circle. As the chanting went, Hermione’s own magic was drawn out of her body steadily, mingled and entwined with his own, knitting a beautiful fabric of gold and ebony. Gradually, the fabric thickened as he walked, from translucent to opaque, until it closed above their heads, wrapping them inside like a cocoon.

Voldemort stopped in front of her, his eyes glowing in the dark storm of magic: “Will you, Hermione Jean Granger, Serve me---”

He paused, the muscle around his eyes twitched as he bit out: “---Tom Marvolo Riddle, with your flesh and blood?”

Hermione’s eyes widened a bit upon his real name. No wonder he chose “Thomas” as pseudonym, though he didn’t seem to like his name very much…

Voldemort tightened his hand threateningly, a warning in his glare. Hermione bit her lower lips and filed the information away in her mind, then breathed deeply before answering him: “Yes, I will serve you with my flesh and blood.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, their combined magic roused into a thunderstorm. Numerous threads rushed to her, bright gold and raven-black, twining around her body like barbed wire. It was like eddy current all over her skin, sizzling with burning intensity, as the force drilled into her body and went through her veins, until it reached her magic core and wrapped around it tightly. 

Hermione gasped her core was shackled. The process was not very painful, but not comfortable either; it made her felt exposed and vulnerable, as if someone grabbed her heart through the open chest when she was under anesthetic. Voldemort caught her as her knees gave away, and Hermione retched into his shirt, her face messy with physiological tears.

Slowly, the sensation receded, but Hermione still felt faint. Voldemort held her as he called out for house elves, ordering them to treat Arthur Weasley before set him free. After the redhead was taken away, Hermione regained her feet and looked at him cautiously. 

Voldemort’s lips curled up as he gently stoked her hair: “Go to sleep, little one. We will begin your apprenticeship tomorrow.”

With the parting words he disapparated from the hall soundlessly, leaving her to the house elf’s hands. Hermione followed Hokey to her chamber numbly, allowing the elf undress her and help her to a hot bath, before hitting the bed and fell asleep right away.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day, she thought as she slipped in the arms of Morpheus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Voldemort was so hard to write. I tried to portray him as an elegant, old-schooled villain, but he came out much creepier than I intended. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!


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